Chapter 2
Richard paced the length of his modest room at the coaching inn, his boots scuffing the uneven wooden floorboards.
The walls pressed in on him, the low ceiling and threadbare furnishings doing little to soothe the frustration that churned within.
He was tired—tired of staying in this godforsaken village, tired of asking questions that yielded no answers, and most of all, tired of chasing shadows.
He needed the truth.
How had it come to this?
His sister, Olivia, had been preyed upon when she was most vulnerable, and she didn’t deserve this public ruin.
She had eloped with a man calling himself Mr. Smith, a man who had whispered vows of forever all the way to Gretna Green, only to abandon her once he had received her dowry.
She had returned home heartbroken and humiliated, while the ton tore her apart one whisper at a time.
Their mother had taken to bed, inconsolable, alternating between fits of weeping and strained silence. It fell to Richard to restore the family’s honor—to fix this. And yet, every step forward led him nowhere.
He clenched his fists. I failed them.
A sharp knock at the door dragged him from his spiraling thoughts. He strode over and opened it to find Mr. Crosby standing on the threshold, his expression grim.
Richard didn’t need to ask. “Do come in,” he said with a resigned sigh, stepping aside.
The Bow Street Runner entered, brushing road dust from his coat. “I’ve confirmed what we suspected,” he revealed. “The late Sir Atticus Smith had no sons. Only two daughters—Miss Lucinda and Miss Theodosia.”
Richard muttered a curse under his breath. “Wonderful. Another dead end.”
“Not entirely,” Crosby added, a glint in his eyes. “I made a few inquiries. Slipped a few coins into the right hands. One of Miss Theodosia’s tenants was willing to talk.”
Richard’s head snapped up. “What did he say?”
“The man fitting your sister’s description has been seen leaving Miss Theodosia’s manor at strange hours. Early mornings, late at night. Always alone. Always cautious.”
“And no one knows who he is?”
Crosby shrugged. “Only that he doesn’t belong in the village. Keeps to himself. It wouldn’t be unreasonable to suspect he is an illegitimate son or nephew. But from the description, he could very well be your sister’s mysterious husband.”
“Then I’ll wait for him,” Richard said at once, pacing again. “I’ll stay near the manor. Watch. Eventually, he’ll return.”
“That could take weeks. Months, even,” Crosby warned. “What if he’s already gone? What if he never comes back?”
Richard ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “What choice do I have? We know my sister’s dowry was deposited at the bank in this village. I do not doubt that Mr. Smith will return for the money.”
Crosby hesitated, then said, “There may be another way. Though I doubt you’ll like it.”
Richard turned towards him. “At this point, I’ll consider anything short of murder.”
“We take Miss Theodosia,” Crosby said plainly. “Escort her to London under guard. Leave a note for this ‘Mr. Smith’—whoever he truly is—informing him that if he wants her back, he’ll have to come and fetch her.”
Richard stared at him. “You want me to abduct her?”
Crosby folded his arms. “It would be a means to an end. If she’s truly innocent, no harm will come to her. And if she’s hiding something—or someone—then this will draw him out. Or at the very least, it will draw out her secret.”
“And if he doesn’t come to collect Miss Theodosia?” Richard asked, skeptical.
“Then we let her go. No worse off than she was before. And you’ll have your answer, one way or the other.”
Richard shook his head. “It’s madness. She’s a baronet’s daughter, not a common thief.”
“Which makes it all the more likely she knows something. For all we know, she and this man are in it together. He might be hiding behind her skirts while she plays the innocent hostess.”
“There has to be another way.”
Crosby gave a short nod. “There is. We could ride to Essex to speak to the older sister, Lucinda. She might know more. But it’ll cost us time.”
Richard crossed the room and sat heavily on the edge of the narrow bed, the thin mattress creaking beneath his weight.
He buried his face in his hands for a long moment, then looked up.
“Even if I took Miss Theodosia to London, what would I do with her while we waited for this man to appear? Lock her in a cellar?”
Crosby gave him a thoughtful look. “What if you did it under the guise of hiring her as a companion for your sister?”
Richard shook his head. “My sister is newly married. She has no need of a companion.”
“She might not,” Crosby said with a shrug, “but it could only help your sister’s tainted reputation.”
Richard stood again, pacing towards the window. “Miss Theodosia will never agree. And I am not the sort of man who drags women from their homes under false pretenses.”
“Then let’s hope you find the strength to keep waiting,” Crosby replied, his tone edged with irony, “because if the man you’re after doesn’t return, your sister’s scandal will go unresolved and your family’s reputation will only sink further.”
Richard didn’t answer at first. He knew perfectly well that Mr. Crosby spoke the truth and it grated on his last nerve.
The worst part of it all was not Crosby’s suggestion, but the fact that it was necessary.
He was running out of options. Each day that passed was another day the scandal surrounding Olivia festered and spread.
He was the head of the family. He was supposed to protect them.
And now he found himself preparing to trick, or perhaps abduct, a woman who may or may not be complicit in the ruin of his sister.
No, he thought. Not yet.
He rose from the edge of the bed. “Before we consider anything drastic, I’ll attempt to speak to Miss Theodosia once more. Perhaps she can be persuaded to come to London of her own accord.”
Mr. Crosby lifted a skeptical brow. “Forgive me for the reminder, my lord, but your last encounter did not end well for you. Why would she give you the time of day now?”
Richard walked to the door. “Because I am a marquess and I have the power to make her life very difficult,” he responded. “Furthermore, if she comes willingly, it spares us both the unpleasantness. And it eases my conscience, if only marginally.”
Crosby gave a short, humorless chuckle. “By all means, I wish you the best of luck.”
Without another word, Richard descended the stairs, crossed the inn yard, and made for the stables.
His horse was saddled within minutes, and he rode hard along the winding country road, the crisp wind biting at his face as he replayed every word he might say in his mind. None of them seemed adequate.
He arrived at the manor just as Miss Theodosia stepped out onto the front steps, a shawl draped around her shoulders and her dark hair pinned in a loose chignon that the breeze threatened to unravel.
Their eyes locked, and hers narrowed in unmistakable annoyance. “What, pray tell, are you doing here, my lord?” Her voice was clipped, her civility strained to its breaking point.
Richard dismounted and secured his horse. “I was hoping you might allow me a moment of your time.”
“I believe you said quite enough the last time we spoke,” she said, sweeping past him.
Matching her stride, he stepped in line with her. “I’ve come to offer an apology for my earlier behavior.”
She paused, turning just slightly, a single brow arched. “Have you? What brought about this sudden burst of contrition?”
Richard hesitated, then gave the lie he had rehearsed. “I have since learned that you have no brother. The other villagers confirmed it.”
She drew up, folding her arms as she turned to face him fully. “Very well,” she said, “proceed with your apology.”
He blinked, momentarily thrown. “Pardon?”
“You stated your intent to apologize,” she said, tilting her head, “yet I have heard no such words from your mouth. I believe the phrase is, ‘I’m sorry’?”
Richard’s mouth tugged into an involuntary smirk. “It was implied.”
A faint smile touched her lips, though it didn’t warm her eyes. “I gather you don’t apologize often, my lord.”
“There’s rarely a need,” he replied with a shrug, then added quickly, “though I admit this may be one of those rare circumstances.”
Her expression sharpened. “And yet your arrogance remains entirely intact. How convenient.”
“I am not arrogant,” he said, straightening instinctively.
She rolled her eyes. “Pompous, then.”
He gave an exasperated sigh. “I apologized, didn’t I?”
She stepped back. “If you’ll excuse me, I have plans to dine with a friend this evening, and I have no desire to be late.”
Before she could move past him again, he held up a hand. “Miss Theodosia—wait. I have a proposition for you.”
She reared back. “I beg your pardon?”
Realizing the implication, Richard quickly clarified, both hands now raised. “Not that sort of proposition. I assure you that it is entirely respectable.”
Eyeing him warily, she replied, “Go on.”
He lowered his hands. “My sister, Olivia, is in need of a companion in London. I was wondering if you might consider accepting the position.”
Theodosia didn’t even hesitate. “No, thank you.”
“You didn’t even consider it.”
“I didn’t need to,” she said. “I’m quite content here in the country, running my estate. But thank you for the generous offer.”
He stepped closer, his voice softening slightly. “It would elevate your standing in Society. Being a companion to a lady of rank would open many doors.”
“I have no interest in those doors,” she replied. “I value my independence far more than the approval of a drawing room full of strangers.”
“So you’d rather stay here forever?” he asked, incredulous. “Tending to ledgers and managing tenants until you grow old and forgotten?”
Her eyes flashed. “Yes, I’d rather that than be paraded through parlors as someone’s ornament. I have work here. People who rely on me.”
“Do you not have a man of business?”