Rogue in Red Velvet (9 page)

His father’s gruff laugh echoed around Alex’s snug breakfast parlor. “It works with a lot of men. Don’t say you’ve never given a ladybird a diamond brooch just to stop her squawking in the morning.”

Alex gave a reluctant grin. “Can’t say I haven’t, Father. But I want more than that in a wife. And I don’t want a spiteful woman with no more sense than hair, either. Miss Stobart has a smallness of mind that would, I fear, pall very quickly.” He added something bound to appeal to his father. “She would not make a good countess. I want an equal, someone I can talk to, discuss matters with, someone to share my life with—” The expression on his father’s face shook him.

No longer displeasure but an open vulnerability that made Alex uncomfortable. His father concealed it in an instant. Enough to tell Alex how much he still missed his wife, Alex’s mother. They’d all loved her, sweet with a core of tempered steel, but she’d been taken from them by smallpox ten years ago. Alex missed her, too. Did he want to marry a woman who would mean as much to him, even if it meant that one day he’d have to live without her?

Yes, the answer came, resoundingly and with no caveats.

“Some of us are lucky enough to find that,” his lordship said. “But I married young and I’d filled my nursery by the time I was your age.”

“You never married again,” Alex said softly.

His father cleared his throat. “No need. I’d done my duty. Time for you to do yours.” His voice lowered, even though there was nobody else in the room. “Look here, Ripley, it’s not just that. I worry for you, sometimes. You can go on as you are but you need to move on with your life. You could have taken Louisa Stobart and made her into what you wanted. Or left her in the country once you’d done your duty. All she needs to do is give you a few children.”

“I don’t want that, Father. I want a woman who knows a little of the world and what she wants.”

“So is that who you met in Yorkshire?” His father tucked into a devilled kidney with every evidence of relish, making Alex wait for his next remark. He experienced no inclination to fill the silence and poured himself more coffee.

Lord Leverton cleared his mouth and took a few gulps of tea, seemingly oblivious of the fraught silence. “You came back very thoughtful and I thought finally you’d met her. When I realized it wasn’t La Stobart, I wondered who it could be. A few young ladies just happened by that week, I’m guessing, once they knew you were in the house. So which one was it? Look, I won’t ask much but that you find someone you like. I keep finding these women for you but if that’s not your taste, we’ll forget them. It’s not good for you, not good for the title either. I want you married before the season’s out.”

“That wasn’t the reason I came back thoughtful.” Not entirely, anyway. “That was because of Jasper Dankworth.”

“I wonder you concern yourself with him.” Lord Leverton’s aristocratic nose flared, a reminder of his opinion of Jacobite traitors who wanted nothing more than to plunge the country back into serfdom, the subject of his one and only speech in the House.

“He is contracted to marry one woman but he’s courting Stobart. Actually announced his engagement.”

His father put his cutlery down and leaned back, raising his black brows. “There’s more than altruistic interest here, isn’t there?”

Damn the man, he wasn’t supposed to notice. “That part doesn’t matter. The whole business of leading two women on doesn’t taste well in my mouth but I’m waiting on events. I wrote to the woman he’s deceiving and told her I’d be her friend in this matter but I’ve had no reply. For all I know the marriage contract could have been voided and Dankworth is free to move on.” Alex shrugged and reached for his cup. “It’s not my concern, Pa.”

Except if that proved to be the case Alex would order his travelling coach readied for immediate departure to Cumbria. The only reason he’d walked away from that contract.

Now he had grown up, Alex rarely used the nursery name for his father. A slip he regretted, because his old man would notice but he couldn’t change it now.

“You do as you think fit, my boy. Just don’t do anything to disgrace the family name and find a bride quick smart, you hear me?”

Wearily, Alex promised to do his best.

After his father left, Alex decided to return to White’s and take a look at the betting book but before he could leave the house, a knock fell on the door. One of his footmen opened it to a messenger. The footman transferred the missive he paid for to a salver and brought it to Alex, despite him standing at the far end of the hall the whole time. The tyranny servants wielded over their masters demanded the transfer. God forbid that his retainers would allow Lord Ripley to take a letter directly from the note bearer.

Alex took the letter with a word of thanks. The tattered cover and the crossings out and redirections made it difficult to identify at first, but eventually he recognized the letter he’d dispatched to Connie. It had never reached her.

That meant she didn’t know about Dankworth. Alex tapped the letter against his open hand, wondering if he should send her another. On the whole, he thought not. He’d visit her instead. Once the notion had taken hold when he was with his father, it wouldn’t let go. He could travel as quickly as a letter if he took a fast carriage.

He turned to ask his footman to summon his butler to make the arrangements, but someone rapped on the kitchen door with an agitated tattoo.

“I’ll discover what the trouble is, my lord,” the footman said.

“No. Let me.” Instead of going down the backstairs, which would cause untold turmoil in the servants’ hall, he went outside. He flung the front door wide and descended the shallow steps to the street.

At the bottom of the area steps, outside the servant’s door, a woman, dressed plainly like a servant, stood hammering on the door. “Please, I need help!”

“Come up,” he said, fascinated by the distraction.

The woman looked up, eyes wide in her white face. “I—I’m sorry, sir but I’m at my wits’ end. My mistress has vanished into thin air.”

“Who is your mistress?” Color tinged her broad cheeks.

“Mrs. Rattigan.”

That name. No, it couldn’t be. But it was. “Come up. Was it me you wished to speak to?”

“Yes, sir—my lord.” She hurried up the area steps and followed Alex into the main part of the house.

Leaving a curt instruction with the footman on his way past that he didn’t want to be disturbed, he entered the study,. Alex bade the woman sit then took his place behind his desk. “How did you get my address?”

The maid glanced away, flushing guiltily. “We—we shared a room on the journey, sir. Mrs. Rattigan muttered your name once or twice in her sleep. Your first name and I recalled you were at the house party. You gave Mrs. Rattigan your address, sir.”

That sounded plausible, and he vaguely remembered this woman from his Downholland visit. “How does Mrs. Rattigan need my help?” Anything he could do he would. Anything. Alex racked his brains to think of something he wouldn’t do and came up with nothing.

The woman’s teeth were chattering. He wouldn’t get anything out of her in this state. When she reached up to untie the strings of her bonnet, her hands shook. “What’s your name?”

“Saxton, my lord.”

Alex snatched the brandy decanter from the sideboard, poured a generous measure and pressed it on her. “Here, drink. I didn’t mean to be so abrupt.”

If he didn’t take care, Saxton would need considerable help to explain her story quickly and articulately.

“N—no, my lord, it’s not that.” Teeth rattling against the glass, she sipped the liquor. Then she took another sip and sat clutching it as if afraid it would get away.

Alex pulled up another chair and sat next to her. Although alarm coursed through his body, he didn’t drink. “Now tell me what happened from the beginning.”

“Yes, my lord. I’m very worried for Mrs. Rattigan. I didn’t know if I should write to her godfather but that would take days if he’s not in town and I asked but nobody knew of him. And I didn’t want to wait.”

She was wringing her hands, her knuckles white with the pressure she was exerting on them. Wringing her hands, she looked around as if afraid of her actions in coming here. “What has happened?”

“He wrote to her, sir, told her to come to London, where they would be married. We travelled down by stagecoach.” She didn’t say who
he
was. She didn’t have to.

“Stagecoach?” asked Alex, amazed. “Why not a private carriage?”

“Mrs. Rattigan doesn’t keep a travelling carriage, sir. She misliked the chaise that brought her for the visit to Lord Downholland’s. It made her ill, she said. So she might as well be ill for less cost.”

He nodded. That sounded like Connie, ever practical. Nevertheless, it annoyed him she’d taken that step. He’d have sent a more comfortable carriage for her and he wagered her godfather would have done so, if she’d asked. Typical of her not to make a fuss. “So you travelled down on the stagecoach. When did you arrive?”

“This morning, sir, at the
Belle Sauvage
. And just like Mr. Dankworth promised, there was a man waiting for us. He gave my mistress a note. I stayed behind to supervise the unloading of the luggage and to ensure it was stowed safely on Mr. Dankworth’s carriage. I discovered that there was no carriage. Then I went to find my lady and although I made the landlord go through every room, I found no trace of her. Nothing, my lord. He said he’d taken her to a private room and bespoken refreshments, but he didn’t know what happened after that. And the luggage had gone, too. He didn’t care, didn’t seem to understand that my lady wouldn’t go somewhere and leave me behind.” Her hand shook when she put the empty glass on the table.

Dear God, what had that villain done? “You found nothing?”

“Nothing. You believe me, sir? I don’t know where else to turn.” Tight lines formed around her mouth, and her face was bleached of color.

“Of course I believe you. You did the right thing, coming to me. Please speak frankly. If we’re to find where she is, we must act quickly.”

She breathed a long sigh of relief. “Thank you, sir. I was afeared you wouldn’t believe me, or you wouldn’t be interested. You might be thinking I should have found Mr. Dankworth, being her intended and all. But he sent the note, my lord, so it could be him that took my mistress.”

“You’re sure she’s been taken?”

The maid nodded. “She wouldn’t have gone anywhere without telling me, or leaving me a message. The landlord was very certain she hadn’t. The luggage had gone, too, loaded into a hackney carriage, according to one of the ostlers. She just wouldn’t have left me, sir. I’ve been with her family all my life. She brought me with her because she could trust me.”

He was sure, too. At least, sure enough to act on the assumption, because delay could be fatal. If it proved a hum, then he would appear foolish, but that was a risk worth taking.

He held her frightened stare “I don’t trust Jasper Dankworth. You may have confidence that I will do everything in my power to find your mistress.”

His stomach churned when he considered the possibilities if she’d found Dankworth. Undoubtedly, he was behind this abduction.

“She could be dead.” The maid clapped her hand over her mouth.

“No,” he said firmly. “We must assume she’s alive.”

Though there was a strong possibility Dankworth had done away with Connie, a thought that turned his innards to liquid. If Dankworth had hurt one hair of Connie’s head, he would pay for it. Connie had people who cared about her, who wouldn’t stop until they found her—including himself. Jasper had the most to lose if she died so the authorities would call on him first. No, if he were Dankworth—God forbid—he’d take another course.

If Dankworth wanted to kill Connie, surely, he’d have waited until they were married. Then he would be sure of her property. Maybe he was desperate. Was there a way he could get hold of Connie’s money without marrying her? She’d signed the marriage settlement. Were there other provisions?

“I’ll go to the inn and retrace the man’s steps. You stay here. I’ll give instructions for you to be incorporated into my household as a maid.”

“Th-thank you my lord but I have a good job—”

“No, you don’t understand. You are a witness, Saxton. If something has happened to your mistress, they may be looking for you.” He hadn’t thought it possible that she could go any paler but she managed it. Plus, the Dankworths rarely left loose ends behind. Otherwise they’d have been attainted after the ’forty-five. “We’ll call you Robinson while you’re here to protect you from discovery. You know the duties of a housemaid?”

“That’s what I am, my lord. I’ve been with Mrs. Rattigan for a number of years, so she brought me with her when she came to London.”

“Did you linger at the inn?”

“No, my lord. I came straight here once I realized she’d gone.”

“We will assume you weren’t followed but I’ll tell the servants to stay alert for any lurkers.”

She bowed her head. “Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord.” She looked up, her eyes widening. “You’ll find her?”

“Don’t tell anyone your real name or purpose here. Servants talk. As soon as I find Mrs. Rattigan, I’ll let you know.” He stood and put his hand on her shoulder to prevent her doing the same. “Stay here. I’ll send the butler to fetch you and show you your room. The secret remains between us, Robinson. If asked, say the staff registry sent you. Clear?”