Chapter Nineteen
Tom left his heaving horse with a startled groom and charged into the town house. As much as he had hated to leave the girls with none except that cowardly Rutledge to protect them, he knew Kate was right. Better that he bring back Wroth.
The marquess would deal with Jasper and the little bully quickly enough, Tom thought, his original opinion of Wroth having undergone quite a change.
Since the marquess married Katie, Tom’s grudging respect had grown into full-fledged admiration.
Now, if only the two of them would let down their stubborn guards long enough to admit they loved each other…
Tom shook his head. Life was too short to spend it moping and pining when a person could have a warm body to hold close at night. Why, hadn’t he been thinking of popping the question to Meg? And he would, too, just as soon as this business with Katie and Wroth and that blasted Jasper was settled.
“Where’s Wroth?” he shouted to the kitchen staff.
“Not here, I don’t think,” Meg said, wiping her hands on her apron. “What is it?”
“Trouble!” Tom said, racing into the main rooms without pausing to explain. He found the stiff-necked butler polishing silver in the dining hall.
“Here, now, you! What do you think you’re doing?” the man asked, aghast at Tom’s rough appearance.
“I’m looking for Wroth.”
“Well, he isn’t here. Now be off with you.”
But a number of servants, headed by the formidable Meg, had gathered behind Tom. “Tom, is that you? What’s this about trouble?” asked Wroth’s valet.
“I must find his lordship, and quickly. Katie’s in danger!”
Several gasps rose from the group. “Where is he?” the valet asked the butler.
The old fellow appeared flustered. “I don’t know. Perhaps at one of his clubs. He didn’t say, just took off riding after breakfast. You know how he’s been…” the man finished lamely.
The valet turned toward the footmen who surrounded Tom. “Johnny, take Jem with you and check the clubs.”
“I’ll have a look round the park,” another footman said.
Soon, they were all rushing off to find the marquess, but Tom felt no measure of relief. Once the man was found, he would still have to make the trip to Hargate, and Tom didn’t like the idea of leaving the girls with that bully of Jasper’s any longer than necessary.
“Mind, we don’t have much time!” he shouted after the departing servants, unable to repress a shiver of dread at the delay.
An hour later, Tom was feeling no better. After the last of the footmen returned empty-handed, he called a meeting in the kitchen, where it seemed every member of the large staff was talking at once.
“Hush, now, so you can hear me!” Tom shouted, and the group quieted obediently. They were used to taking orders. Now if he could just convince them to follow his.
“Most of you know me as Tom from the stables. I came here with the marchioness. As you know, there’s been a bit of a tiff between the lord and his lady.”
He held up a hand to forestall any gossip. “That’s neither here nor there, except that Katie, being a stubborn sort, took off for home by herself. Now she’s there with none to protect her, and some thug sent by her uncle is threatening her and her sister.”
Noise erupted again as everyone broke into speech, and Tom lifted a hand for silence once more. “She told me to hurry here and bring back his lordship, but I can’t do that when no one can find him. That’s the situation right now, as I see it. Now, I’ll turn this meeting over to Sadcock.”
“Badcock,” the valet said. He gave Tom a wilting look before turning toward the assembled servants. “Does anyone have any other ideas about his lordship’s whereabouts?”
One of the maids blushed furiously, but spoke up. “What of that secretary of his, the fellow with the glasses?”
“Good thinking, Lizzy! Bob, run round to the man’s house, will you?” the valet said, and one of the footmen hurried out the door. “Anyone else?”
Another footman stood. “Begging your pardon, Mr. Badcock, but he could be anywhere, visiting his friends or gambling in some hell we’ve never even heard of.”
There was a rumble of agreement. “Well, then, since the marchioness is in danger, and his lordship isn’t here, I suggest we go to Hargate ourselves,” the valet said, startling everyone except Tom, who grinned from ear to ear as he watched the butler’s mouth pop open.
“This thug claims he’s employed by her ladyship’s uncle,” Badcock said. “Well, we’re employed by one of the most important men in England, and I say we go and show the devil what’s what.”
A rousing cheer met his words, and while the servants all began talking, Wroth’s valet moved through the crowd, picking the largest, most imposing of the footmen to join him.
“But… but… this is unheard-of!” the butler protested as they headed toward the door.
“I’m coming, too!” Meg shouted. Grabbing up a fat rolling pin, she slapped it against her palm.
“You are all mad!” the butler said, backing away.
“No, we’re serving the Marchioness of Wroth,” Meg said.
“On whose authority?” the butler called after them.
“On my authority!” the valet shouted over his shoulder.
The sound of another cheer followed them out the door, and Tom grinned. “You know, I never much liked you, Limpdick, but you’re all right,” said slapping the man on the shoulder.
“Badcock,” the valet said dryly. And then they were on their way.
***
Grayson listened absently as Daniel Wells reported on his vast number of businesses and investments.
Although Wells called himself a secretary, he was more of an overseer.
He left the handling of correspondence and accounts to lesser employees, but looked after everything, keeping a vigilant eye on all of Grayson’s holdings and making sure that all ran smoothly.
He was invaluable, and Grayson had been especially grateful for his assistance in the past month. During his absence from London and even after his return, Grayson’s mind had been elsewhere, yet he had known that nothing would go seriously awry while Wells was in charge.
So he gave his approval when required, his disagreement when he felt it necessary, and let his thoughts wander back to Kate. His interview with Mrs. Parker yesterday weighed heavily on his mind.
Despite her boy’s clothes—and her marksmanship, Grayson thought, flexing his shoulder slightly—Kate was not invincible. And Mrs. Parker’s threats reminded him that she was at Hargate, essentially alone.
At first, anger at her defection had kept him from sending anyone after her. She knew what condition her former home was in, and if she would rather muck about like a tenant farmer than live with him as a pampered noblewoman, Grayson was inclined to let her.
He had hoped that she would have enough wits to realize her precarious situation, but now he wondered why he had ever thought her sensible. Of course, that idiot coachman had run to join her, and if she preferred Tom’s presence to her husband’s, she was welcome to it.
Grayson shifted in his seat as all of his outrage at her desertion returned. Although he ought to be glad that she was no longer at hand to drive him to distraction, he felt betrayed, as if a valued friend had quit his company. As if his parents had abandoned him once more.
Grayson frowned. Where had that thought come from?
His parents had not been responsible for their deaths.
Nor had he wasted a lot of time grieving their absence.
He had been too busy taking the reins of his inheritance.
And the situation with Kate was not at all similar, for her loyalty, always very much in doubt, had been tested and found wanting.
Or had it? His interview with Mrs. Parker shed a new light upon the situation, forcing him to wonder if the woman’s threats had put Kate to flight. Certainly, the poppet’s pride would not let her ask him for the blackmail money. Nor would she even come to him for advice, Grayson suspected.
Perhaps Raleigh was right, and they were too much alike, too stubborn and willful, to make the compromises that their relationship demanded. Drawing in a sharp breath at the thought, Grayson only gradually became aware of his secretary’s scrutiny.
He stilled as he wondered whether the man had made some inquiry that he had failed to answer. “Yes?”
Wells shook his head. “I fear you are distracted. Are you feeling all right?”
No. He felt lousy—angry, betrayed, worried, and a host of other useless, annoying emotions he was unaccustomed to dealing with. “I am fine,” he said, lifting a brow.
Wells knew better than to pursue the matter. “Very good, my lord. But I expect that you will want to pay attention to this last bit of news.”
“Yes?” Grayson asked, tensing in spite of himself.
“Jasper Gilroy is on the move,” Wells said, and Grayson’s casual attention became sharp and focused.
“Perhaps he received word that one of his charges had married or that banns were being called for the other’s nuptials. Or perhaps he wearied of his self-imposed exile. Whatever his motive, he has returned to England and is heading this way.”
“Or north of London, to Hargate,” Grayson muttered.
“Perhaps. Our sources could not get near enough to discover his plans. He has a small group they have been unable to penetrate, but they will keep as close as they can.”
Nodding, Grayson leaned back and put a finger to his lips.
Of course, there was nothing particularly alarming about Jasper’s approach.
He might simply be on his way to his solicitors in order to squeeze more money out of the Courtland estate.
Yet, if he had gotten wind of the weddings, he might be inclined to protest the imminent loss of his livelihood.
Grayson straightened. Perhaps he ought to send someone to retrieve Kate, and Lucy, too. But if he knew his wife, she was liable to shoo—or shoot—anyone who interfered with her plans. So perhaps it would be better if he went himself.