Chapter 3
Laura could not sleep.
The last weeks had been the most hectic of her life. Preparing for Amelia’s wedding had taken over their entire household.
There was not a single person living there, from their mother, the baroness, to the lowliest scullery maid, whose entire existence had not become about readying Amelia to wed the earl.
Laura could not help feeling that it was all a bit overkill. The earl was, well, an earl, but it wasn’t as if he were God.
In fact, she found him to be one of the most insufferable men of her acquaintance, and she didn’t like how her father and mother were bending over backwards to prove that their family was good enough to join his illustrious ranks.
Nor did Laura particularly like what it was doing to Amelia. Her older sister had always been vain and obsessed with finding a rich, titled husband.
But in the past few weeks, her vanity and her self-importance had reached new levels. It had come to the point where Laura was actually glad her sister would shortly be marrying and leaving their house, as she was not sure she could stand another day living with her.
She will be someone else’s problem soon, she thought, then instantly felt regret at her words. Amelia was still her sister, and however much they were not getting along these days, she did still love her. She would miss her, too, in a way.
When they were young, Laura and Amelia had got along very well.
Amelia had always been prettier, but when they were children, this had not been used against Laura.
In fact, her sister would call her into her room every night and brush her hair with the silver brush that had once belonged to their grandmother.
Amelia would then entertain her with stories about how they would both marry handsome fairy princes and go off to live in the lands of the fairies.
It was only once they had reached their teenage years, and the prospect of debuting and having to find husbands had become a reality and not just a game they played, that Amelia had begun to change.
She had become preoccupied with her looks and would spend many hours studying the miniatures of all the richest peers in the land, even the old and ugly ones.
The attention from gentlemen had done it, if you asked Laura. It had turned Amelia from a sweet, kind girl who liked to be pretty into a vain, ambitious fortune-hunter. And as much as Laura was sometimes jealous of her sister’s good looks, she was also grateful to have been spared them.
Not being the ‘beautiful’ one had forced Laura to develop other interests, other hobbies. She had spent so much time alone as a teenager – her sister preferring her more marriage-interested friends to Laura – that she had taken to reading philosophical treatises, radical pamphlets, and newspapers.
That was how her interest in good works and reform politics had begun. And although few people in the ton seemed to appreciate this about her, Laura liked the opinions she had cultivated for herself.
It felt exciting and daring to be interested in a world outside of the ton. She was seized by wonder at all there was to discover and hoped that someday, she would be able to travel and make a real difference.
For now, however, she was determined to keep her mouth shut. Things had been ugly after her last argument with Lord Rosemont.
Amelia had been livid and had even threatened to tell their parents that Laura had been sneaking off to charitable fundraisers. In the end, she had agreed not to tell, but only if Laura did not engage with the earl on any other ‘controversial’ topics.
Laura had kept her mouth shut and had dutifully supported her sister for the past three weeks.
The strange thing was, no matter how supportive Laura was, and no matter how much the household catered to her every whim to make her wedding perfect, Amelia had only seemed to grow more ill-tempered with every passing day.
It was as if the closer she got to her wedding day, the more angry, vindictive, and mean she became.
Laura reflected on the evening before. Amelia had been in the foulest temper, and during dinner, when one of the footmen had dared to dribble the smallest portion of wine onto her napkin, she screamed at him and then threw her plate of food across the table, nearly hitting Laura and sending food flying everywhere.
Their mother and father had been beside themselves.
The baron had thundered at his eldest daughter to go to her room, threatening to call off the wedding if she did not behave herself – an empty threat, which they all knew – while the baroness had burst into tears.
Laura, meanwhile, had sat there in shock, unable to understand it.
Amelia is finally getting everything she has ever wanted, were her thoughts as she stared at the splattered food on the table. Why is she behaving as if she is being condemned to the gallows?
It made no sense. When her mother had come to visit her later, the baroness had tried to explain Amelia’s behaviour away as pre-wedding jitters.
“She is just nervous to become a wife and a countess,” the baroness had said as she brushed Laura’s hair. “She will be calmer once she has settled into her new role.”
But Laura wasn’t so sure. Her sister should have been revelling in her triumph, gloating to them all about her good fortune, and claiming she would be the greatest countess of all time.
It was out of character for her to be nervous and ill-tempered because she had finally achieved her greatest ambition.
Downstairs in the front hall, Laura heard the grandfather clock strike one in the morning. She turned over and closed her eyes, determined to try to sleep.
Just then, however, she heard voices next door – from her sister’s room.
The first voice was her sister’s. Laura recognized it at once. Her sister was saying something, too low for Laura to hear, but loud enough that she could make out the intonation through the wall that adjoined their bedrooms.
And the tone was fearful – perhaps even angry. The second voice, which immediately spoke over her sister, was unfamiliar to Laura. And, more shockingly, it belonged to a man.
Laura sat bolt upright in bed. A man! There is a man in my sister’s bedchamber!
Her first thought was that it must be a servant. But why would a male servant be going into Amelia’s room in the middle of the night? Her next thought was that it was their father – but again, she would have recognized it.
A jolt of fear went through her – could it be the earl, coming to lay claim to his wife?
But that made no sense. The earl would not risk the ruination of his bride by doing such a thing. Anyway, surely he could have patience. The wedding was in just a few days’ time.
Laura tried not to breathe, listening hard. For a few moments, no sound came from next door, and she wondered if she might have been drifting off without realizing it and had dreamt up the voices.
Then, out of the dark silence, came the unmistakable sound of her sister’s high-pitched, shrill scream. Seconds later, there was a crash as something fell to the ground, then her sister’s scream was muffled, followed by the curt, angry voice of a man.
Laura strained her ears to try to hear what he was saying, but she couldn’t make it out. Her heart was in her throat. A pounding sound filled her ears. Sweat had sprouted on her palms and under her arms.
Something was happening to Amelia. Something bad. And she, Laura, needed to save her.
From somewhere deep in the reserves of Laura’s strength, she summoned all her courage. Banging sounds were now coming from her sister’s room as if she were in some kind of tussle.
Laura threw back the covers and sprang to her feet.
She looked wildly around, trying to find something that she might use as a weapon, and her eyes fell on her letter opener, which she had left out on her desk yesterday after she had been answering her correspondence. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do.
Dashing over to the desk, she grabbed the letter opener, then hurried to the door. As quietly as she could, she cracked it open and peered tentatively out into the corridor.
It was deserted. However, as she swivelled her head around to see her sister’s door, she saw that it was ajar.
Laura’s hand tightened on the letter opener. No more sounds were coming from her sister’s room, but that didn’t mean the assailant – or whoever it was – wasn’t still there.
She pushed open the door and crept as swiftly and quietly as she could to her sister’s bedchamber door. Slowly, she pulled it open a little wider and looked inside.
It was dark in the bedchamber. Too dark to make out if her sister – or anyone else – was in there.
She took a deep, steadying breath, then threw open the door and leapt inside.
“Unhand my sister!” she shouted, flailing her arms around as she brandished the letter opener through the air with a swish. “Let her go!”
But no one answered her, and as Laura’s eyes became adjusted to the darkness, she realized that no one was there. The room was empty.
It was not, however, spotless. And as Laura stared around, she felt a creeping unease go up her spine.
The room looked as if it had been ransacked. There were clothes everywhere, shoes and jewellery thrown this way and that, books scattered across the floor.
The linens had been ripped from the bed, and several of the curtains around the four-poster bed had been torn down. They lay limply on the floor.
Laura took a step back as horror filled her. There had been some kind of struggle, that much was clear. And now Amelia was gone.
“Help!” she cried, although her voice was still far too soft for anyone to hear her. She was in shock. “Help!” she tried again, raising her voice. “Someone help! Amelia is missing! Help! Help!”
Her voice echoed throughout the room, and, moments later, she heard a door slam, then footsteps hurrying along the corridor.
“Laura? Are you well?” she heard her mother ask sleepily from the doorway. “What are you doing in Amelia’s room?”
She stepped into the room, rubbing her eyes from tiredness. For a second or two, she stared around at everything – the overturned candelabras, the piles of books, the clothes strewn everywhere –nonplussed. Then her eyes widened, and she began to scream. “Silas! Silas! Come quick! Amelia is gone!”
Within minutes, the whole house had been woken and was in an uproar. Laura’s mother was beside herself, and a maid had to be sent to fetch her smelling salts, after which the baroness collapsed on her eldest daughter’s bed, sobbing.
Silas Templeton was shouting furiously at the footmen, sending them out after his runaway daughter (Laura had not mentioned the male voice in case it reflected poorly on her sister’s reputation) and then pacing back and forth down the corridor, his hands shaking and his eyes wild.
Laura was completely numb. She couldn’t believe this had happened. Who would have taken Amelia? And why? Worst of all, she felt it was her fault. If only she had reacted sooner, maybe she could have stopped – or at least seen – who had been in Amelia’s room.
You couldn’t have fought him off, though, she told herself. Maybe he just would have taken you, as well. The thought made her shudder in horror.
Laura, her mother, and her father didn’t sleep a wink that night. They stayed up, waiting to see if any of the footmen would return having found Amelia.
But at dawn, they were all back, and none had been able to find any trace of her – although one had found the marks of carriage wheels in the ground below Amelia’s window.
Nor had Laura found any clues after she had searched her sister’s room and tried to put her things back in their place. The only thing odd she had discovered was that her sister’s ivory brush and mirror set – the ones she used obsessively every night at her dressing table – were gone.
She never went anywhere without these in her reticule, and it seemed odd to Laura that in the heat of the moment, when Amelia’s things were being scattered everywhere, she had managed to convince her kidnapper to let her take her most prized possessions with her.