Chapter Four
Jane pulled back her hand and flexed her fingers.
They still tingled from the magic the duke wielded.
At least, she thought the sensation was due to magic.
There might have been other factors at play, though.
Jane was not immune to the charms of an attractive man, and Belmont was certainly that.
A night’s rest had made him look several years younger.
The spell had definitely worked. She’d seen the movement of the needle with her own eyes. She studied the map now, squinting to read the tiny print.
“Your niece hasn’t gotten very far at all!” she exclaimed. The needle pointed away from the Great North Road, towards a region in the North Riding. Miss Smythe appeared to be somewhere between York and Whitby.
The duke leaned closer to the map and scowled. “But that makes no sense!”
“Why not?” Jane wondered. “Miss Smythe probably left the main road to avoid detection. She could still get to Scotland by traveling along the coast.” It would take longer, though, since the roads were not as good.
Belmont shook his head. “The needle is pointing towards Kirkby Rushton. Sally wouldn’t go there if she wanted to hide.”
That wasn’t a scowl on his face, Jane realized. Those were lines of confusion. He looked completely baffled by the result of the spell.
“Why would she not go to Kirkby Rushton?” Jane prompted. “Would she be recognized there?”
“She most certainly would! My Aunt Emily lives there, at Rushton Hall. The dowager Lady Chumford, I should say. She is a little eccentric, but she would hardly allow Sally to elope with a fortune hunter.” He paused before adding, “I think.”
He glanced up to meet her gaze. His eyes, she realized, were not blue at all, but a light, clear gray. At the moment, they looked bleak.
“What kind of runaway stops to visit her aunt on the way to Scotland?”
“Maybe she isn’t on her way to Scotland,” Jane suggested. “Could you be wrong about her plans? Your niece told me she was running away from school. What if that’s the truth?” Miss Smythe had been quite eloquent on the subject of her much-loathed boarding school.
He frowned. “I suppose there’s only one way to find out. I had better tell my coachman to get ready to travel.”
Jane felt an unexpected pang of disappointment.
Strange—she had no reason to regret parting from the duke.
She was a bit concerned about Miss Smythe, though.
She wished she’d never met the foolish child.
If Jane hadn’t interfered, Belmont would probably have caught up with his niece last night.
Instead of helping the girl, she’d made things worse.
Belmont’s next words banished Jane’s painful reflections.
“I have no right to ask this, but would you be willing to travel with me to Kirkby Rushton? If I don’t catch up with Sally there, I may need to work another location spell.
It would be a great help to have you on hand for that. ” He looked beseechingly at her.
A smile curved across Jane’s face. Perhaps she could see the chase through to the end. “I have no objection to traveling with you to Kirkby Rushton,” she told him. “My cousin and I were on our way home after a visit. We are free to alter our plans as we like.”
It wasn’t as if Jane was needed at Carrington Abbey.
Her daughter-in-law, the current Lady Carrington, had the housekeeping well in hand.
At this time of year, the rest of the Carrington children were scattered across the country.
Cosmo had a fellowship at Cambridge; Peregrine and Dora were occupied with their latest spell; Hannah had gone to Bath with her godmother.
Abigail and her companion, Susan, planned to join Amelia and Roderick at Carrington Abbey. By now, they might already be there.
None of the Carrington children needed their mother hovering over their shoulder.
Perhaps, Jane admitted to herself, she had become a little bored with her life. She might as well make the most of this opportunity. How often did she have the chance to help track down a runaway schoolgirl?
She told the not-so-wicked Duke of Belmont, “I would be happy to help you,” and he rewarded her with a broad smile.
*
A few hours later, Jane was less pleased with her situation.
Though the sky had cleared after yesterday’s rain, the roads had not yet recovered.
Belmont’s coachman kept the horses at a slow trot as he maneuvered around ominous puddles in the middle of the road. Every mile seemed to take an eternity.
Unfortunately, not all drivers shared his caution. Two hours into the journey, a sudden shout jerked Jane’s attention away from the book in her hand. Jane snapped her head up just in time to watch a gig rounding the corner much too quickly, headed on a collision course.
The duke’s coachman swore vividly as the gig swung to the far side of the road, narrowly missing the coach. She released her breath, relieved that they’d escaped a collision.
Apparently, though, the team of horses pulling Belmont’s coach did not understand that the danger had passed. The leaders panicked and bolted.
Belmont cursed as he reached for the loop strap on the carriage wall.
Jane had just enough warning to grab the strap closest to her.
Martha, not so lucky, lurched forward before she could secure herself.
Jane let go of the strap and reached for her young cousin, but she only succeeded in causing them both to tumble off the seat.
Jane landed on her elbow. For a moment, the excruciating pain became her whole world.
When the agony in her arm retreated, Jane pulled herself off the floor and took stock of the situation.
The panicking horses had dragged the coach into a ditch.
The coachman must not have been seriously injured, because he was swearing more loudly than ever at the driver of the gig.
Martha had managed to catch herself when she fell. She might have a few bruises, but was otherwise unharmed. The duke had not been so lucky. He must have hit his head against the wall of the carriage, because he sat in a daze. Blood darkened his hair and trickled down his face.
“Your Grace? Do you require assistance?” He turned his eyes her way, but said nothing.
The coachman threw open the door of the carriage. “Is everyone all right—oh!” He gaped at the injured duke.
Jane knew when it was time to charge. “We are going to need medical assistance. Robertson, will you ask the gentlemen in the gig if they know where to find the nearest surgeon? And perhaps the nearest inn? His Grace will need time to recover.”
So much for reaching Kirkby Rushton before dinner!