Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
T hrough the fog of fear and rage, Samuel saw the moon maiden. And if his arms and legs had moved with cold determination before, they folded now, bringing him without thought to her side, tingling to take her in his arms. Not doing so.
“Samuel?” she breathed, chin tilted up, eyes oceans, watery and deep. His Christian name a secret and a scandal on her tongue.
“The girls told you?” He shook the fists out of his hands to run them through his hair, to keep them from reaching for her.
“It is my fault. I should not have told you to—”
“No, it’s not.” His fault only. Always his fault. And he would damn well make it right.
“It is. I’ll find her, bring her home.”
“You will not.” He swung back toward his satchel. “That is my job.” He shoved clothes into the bag—cravats now wrinkled and shirts now crumpled, pants shoved into corners with smalls and braces binding the lot of it. Before she’d arrived, he’d packed without thought, with no control over his movements. But she’d cleared his mind, her pale face and helpless expression offering strength.
Behind him, her footsteps rushed across the room, and then her shoulder bumped his as she stopped next to him. “I will come with you.”
A symphony of gasps from the hallway.
Samuel froze, and slowly, he looked over his shoulder. At the five curious faces watching from the hallway.
“Leave,” he demanded.
They darted in every direction with quick scampering feet and rustling skirts.
He crossed the room and slammed the door closed, then wrapped his hands around Emma’s upper arms and sat her on the edge of his bed.
His. Bed.
She shouldn’t be here. She absolutely should not be here. He must send her away. But he continued packing instead.
“I will go with you,” she repeated.
“You cannot.”
She jumped to her feet. “I am partly to blame! As her matchmaker, I should have seen some sign! And if it was Lord Bransley, I am the one who told you to leave him alone! I will take responsibility and help retrieve her. I know the North Road better than you, having recently traveled it. And what will you do when you find them?”
“Call out the blackguard who ran away with her.” Kill the man.
“Naturally. And what if you are injured in the process? Who will comfort and care for your sister if you are wounded or worse? You need me.”
His jaw tightened, and he gripped the handles of his satchel until his knuckles glowed white. “What kind of man am I that I cannot keep my sisters safe? What kind of guardian allows foul things to happen to those most important to him?”
He heard her first, softly padding toward him across his bedchamber rug, and then her hand was on him, small and flat against his back, attempting to ease with a single touch the rigid tension of his muscles.
“I have failed them over and over again,” he said, “and I deserve to feel ripped apart, inadequate—”
“No.”
He spun around and grasped her hand, held it tight against his chest, so very near his angry heart. “I will kill the man.”
“No.”
He dropped his chin to his chest. “I am not thinking clearly. But I will kill him. Or”—he shook his head, trying to think—“make him marry her. It will come down to what she wants.”
She pulled her hand from his grasp and cradled it against her chest like a wounded bird. “You need not do this alone. You need a clear head for what you are about to do. Look at me.”
His gaze skittered away. He could not look at her sheltering her hand as if his touch had wounded her.
“Look at me.” When he did, she reached out, hesitant fingers just brushing against his chest. “You love your sisters, and that will save them. You carry your mistakes, and that will save you. Isn’t that what you told me?”
He grasped her hand and held her knuckles against his lips, eyes pressed so tightly closed they seemed like prison doors holding back the weary guilty-hearted.
“I will come with you,” she said, allowing the touch, the almost kiss, “and we will face this difficulty together.”
He dropped her hand, eyes open and clear and determined. “Pack a few items. We leave in a quarter hour. If you are not ready, I leave without you.”
She ran, spilling out of his chamber and into the hallway, her footsteps slapping into oblivion as he finished packing.
He couldn’t take her.
But he wouldn’t stop her, either. Probably couldn’t. He knew well her determined spirit; it was so very like his own.
He snapped the satchel closed, threw on his greatcoat, and was in the mews behind the house moments later. The head groomsman was already readying a coach and four, and another groom took his bag and stored it behind the coach.
“There will be another,” Samuel said before pulling himself up into the coach.
“Samuel! Wait!” The coach door flew open, and June appeared, lanky limbed and round-eyed. “You’re not going alone, are you?” She sat next to him.
“You cannot go, Beetle.”
“I know, but I do not like to think of you alone. It’s why we told Lady Emma. Her sisters say they go to her when there is trouble. I hoped she could help, too. You’re not angry, are you?”
“No. Not with you.”
“With Lady Emma? You’ve avoided her for weeks now.”
“Not with her, either.” He patted her cheek. “Do not worry. I will find your sister.”
June threw herself at him, hugged him tight, her arms lost in the folds of his greatcoat. “You and Lady Emma will take care of one another.”
“We will. And you—do not leave the house, do you understand? Speak to no one but your sisters. Do not speak of it in front of servants.” Who likely already knew.
She nodded against his chest, and he hugged her more tightly.
“Tell no one about Felicity.”
“Never.” She threw herself out of the coach and disappeared.
And a new figure stepped into the empty space of the coach door. Emma, holding her own satchel tight before her, a large bonnet pulled down low over her face. Samuel leaned out, offering a hand, a silent invitation to step with him into madness.
She took his offer—her gloved hand wrapping warm and strong and sure around his own—and settled herself across from him, placing her bag on the floor beside her feet. She sat tense and silent in the shadows.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
Her eyes flashed, a cold blue like a cloudless sky on a winter day. “Do I not seem the sort to know my mind?”
“Of course you do. But I am no fool. What you do, we do—it is perilously close to what we’re trying to stop.”
Her gaze drifted to her lap. “Our reasons for setting out together are entirely different. I understand the risks, but I have had a hand in this, and I will not sit idly by and let you shoulder all the responsibility. Lady Macintosh will simply tell everyone I am still ill and staying abed.”
“You are not, are you?”
She shook her head, and relief swamped him.
When had he ever shared the responsibility? Not since it had all at once been thrust upon him. But here, now, sat an indomitable woman, capable and caring. Relying on her gave him strength.
Outside, the streets were coming alive with the evening passersby stopping to chat, carrying joys and sorrows they hid behind bonnets and top hats. They wore anger in the billowing shirtsleeves below shaking fists and hesitance in the mincing steps of their boots. London was alive, and for the first time in years, he felt alive, too.
“How will we find her?” he asked.
“What did the note say?”
He reached into his pocket and passed along the slip of paper he’d not released since opening it earlier that morning. So long ago, but just a breath ago as well.
“Samuel,” she read aloud, “I am for Gretna Green. Do not be angry. I do this for love. You will understand. And no harm shall come to me. Your sister, Felicity.” She dropped the letter to her skirts with a sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Youthful dramatics. But… she did not say it was with Bransley. I had assumed…”
“So did I, but you are correct. She does not name the man. Any chance she’s gone alone? Something other than marriage on her mind?”
“To Gretna Green?”
He covered his eyes.
And the touch of her fingers settled on his knee. “We’ll find her.”
“Why didn’t she speak with me? She can choose who she pleases, and as long as he is no harm to her, as long as he is who she wants, I will not stand in her way!” He tugged at his hair. Maddening. Every bit of this driving him mad.
“I cannot say. But we will find out.”
We . Yes, that helped. He was not alone in this frantic chase north.
The coach slowed, and he recognized the street, the building on it. “I’ll return shortly. Stay right here.”
“Where are you going?”
He opened the door and peered up at Hotel Hestia. “To ask for accommodations.”
Samuel entered the hotel as if he owned it, then made his way to the very top floor without being bothered. The staff knew him, knew his connection to the hotel’s owner.
He knocked on Trent's study door.
“Come in,” Trent said from the other side, and Samuel pushed through. Looking up from behind his desk, Trent set his quill down, tilted his head. “Clearford. This is a surprise.”
“Welcome!” A man sat opposite Trent, tilting his chair onto its back two legs, feet propped up on the desk. Lord Helston, another brother-in-law. “Fancy seeing you here.”
“What's he doing here?” Samuel asked Trent.
Trent shrugged. “He seems to think, because we have married twins, he and I are fated to be the closest of friends. He's here all the time now.”
Samuel stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. He’d never been sure what to make of Helston. He and Imogen’s marriage was not made of romance but of practical amiability. “Can I trust you, Helston?”
The man set up straighter, the goofy grin slicing into seriousness. “Yes.” No hint of the fool anywhere in the word. Was this what Imogen, Samuel’s serious, bookish sister with a sharp mind and an even sharper wit saw in her husband? Samuel had always thought him a dolt, but he had helped during a time of crisis last Season, and he seemed no dolt now.
“This is a matter of greatest urgency,” Samuel said, “and I require your steadfast secrecy.”
Trent stood and rounded the desk. “Of course.”
“You have it,” said Helston. “What's happened?”
“Felicity.” Difficult to say her name. Even more so to say what he must say next. “She has eloped.”
Trent cursed.
Helston’s mouth dropped open. “Little Felicity? Eloped? Are you sure? I cannot imagine—”
“She left a note. I'm going to find her now.”
“What can we do?” Trent asked.
“I have no time to speak with my sisters. I am only here because it is on my way north out of London, after her. I need you to tell my sisters what has happened. And I need you to scour the city for any hint of where they might have gone, where they might be staying, if anyone else knew about this.”
“Who is the man?” Helston asked.
“She did not say. I think it might be Viscount Bransley. Let no hint escape your lips about what has happened.”
“Of course not,” Trent said.
“Never.” Helston slammed the front legs of his chair to the ground and stood, looking sturdy and grim like a soldier with a mission.
Samuel reached for the door but swung back around. “Trent, I must ask another favor of you.”
“Anything.”
“I am not traveling alone. Are your new inns along the North Road ready to accommodate a”—Samuel pulled at his cravat and cleared his throat—“lady?”
“A lady? What lady?” Helston barked.
“It doesn’t matter. Are the inns available.”
“Who?” Trent demanded, slow strides bringing him close enough for Samuel to see the man would not be ignored. “Gertrude or June?”
“The matchmaker,” Samuel snapped. “And you will keep your mouth closed about that as well.”
“No.” Helston joined Trent, and together they made a wall, shoulder to shoulder. “You cannot take her. Why in hell would you take her, Clearford?”
Trent crossed his arms over his chest. “I'm with Helston. You cannot take a lady on such a trip. Alone . No matter who is in peril. Save one lady by endangering another?” He shook his head, the slow rotations right and left a moral censure. No words necessary.
“I do not have time for this.” Samuel spun for the door.
Trent whipped in front of him before he could reach it. “You will bring Lady Emma up here.”
“And I will take her home,” Helston added.
“Felicity needs her,” Samuel growled, shoving Trent against the door. His anger raged in his fists, crumpling Trent’s cravat, begging to crush the throat of any man who kept him from the coach below, the journey ahead.
Trent kept his calm, raised a brow.
“Lady Emma has a protector. Lord Macintosh,” Helston said from behind Samuel, his voice low and steady. “Do you think he won't notice his house guest is gone? Do you think he will not guess where she’s gone to, and with whom, when she reappears at the same time you do?”
“Felicity needs her,” Samuel repeated. “I might lose my temper or find myself injured, and Lady Emma will be there when that happens, making sure Felicity gets to safety.” He dropped his hand from Trent’s throat. “Step away from the door.”
The hotelier rubbed at his neck, straightened his cravat. “Not until you either give in and let Lady Emma stay here—”
“Ha! You tell her to stay. I’d like to see how that goes.”
“Or,” Trent continued, “tell me you understand the consequences and that you are willing to accept them.”
“ Can you accept them?” Helston asked softly. “Are you free to? Immy has told me why you are courting Lady Huxley.”
“Has she told you I proposed, and the lady refused?”
“Erm”—Helston tugged at this cravat—“no, she did not say that.”
“I am glad she rejected you.” Trent shoved Samuel backward. “You were a fool to consider marrying her.”
Samuel stuttered backward but caught himself, steadied himself. “What do you mean?”
“I mean you seem set on protecting some hypothetical, innocent woman before you even know who she is or what she wants. You were set on saddling the widow Huxley with a husband who cares little to nothing for her, other than marrying her keeps his conscience clean. You are making a decision based on disaster when disaster may never come to pass. I am relieved to find Lady Huxley wise enough to tell you no.”
“I'm sacrificing myself.” Samuel surged toward Trent again. “Because my sisters were willing to do so for me. Isabella”—he looked toward Helston—“and Imogen were willing to sacrifice to save me last Season. And who are you to lecture me, Trent?” He poked the man in the shoulder. “You were ready to let Isabella slip away merely because you feared she would one day regret your social status.”
“And I will be the first to call myself a cowardly fool.” Trent kept Samuel’s gaze while brushing at the spot Samuel had poked. “But I will not step away from this door until we come to an understanding.”
Samuel’s entire body might collapse. His legs that numb, his pulse that erratic. But he stood strong, only dropping his head and hiding his face in his palms. “Felicity doesn't need Lady Emma, damn it.” Finally, Samuel found true words in the palm-warmed darkness. “I do.”
When he’d first read Felicity's note, every thought had been lost behind a storm of rage, of fear. He’d had no idea what he was doing until Emma called his name and called him to his senses. The pounding in his ears had faded away, and his pulse calmed. One look at her, and he’d been able to think again.
“I do know the consequences,” Samuel said, “and I am more than prepared to face them.” Since they’d shared a series of letters, since the widow had rejected his suit, no… since the day he’d read his father’s note in his mother’s book… he’d begun to wonder if there was another way, one that did not require him to sacrifice his heart. “It takes bravery to find happiness. Living in fear only breeds more pain.”
“What’s that mean?” Helston asked.
Trent stepped away from the door. “It means he understands how this goes when he returns to London.” He scribbled something on a bit of paper on his desk, folded it, and shoved it at Clearford. “You have my blessing. We've held you up long enough. Use this for excellent accommodations. Now go find your sister.”
“We'll take care of everything else,” Helston said.
And Samuel trusted they would. His sisters, no matter their reasons for marrying, had married well, and Samuel must follow their lead. A cautious courtship had ended and a reckless one had begun.
But as Samuel settled back into the coach across from Lady Emma, he felt lighter than he had in years. This new courtship may be reckless, but it would be successful.
Because this time, he intended to court for keeps.