Chapter Fifteen #2
All attempts to engage the women in conversation had failed. Not only had they been unresponsive, but they also hadn’t even met his gaze, almost as if they neither wanted to know who he was, nor wished to reveal anything about themselves beyond what their physical presence implied.
Chilling.
Was this what Willard had in store for Millie? Willard had, after all, left London immediately after the performance. Neville had assumed he’d done so out of fear of his father’s reprisals. But what if the journey had already been planned?
The very thought kindled a low burning rage in Neville’s stomach.
His only consolation—Millie remained safe at Harbury’s. He closed his eyes, attempting to empty his mind of all else but the thought that she was protected.
That knowledge was all he had left.
He hung his head and then waited through the interminable silence. Sometime later, bootsteps sounded somewhere beyond his sight. Boots, not half-boots, not shoes, not slippers. And the sound was not coming from beyond the barn, but beneath the floorboards.
Less than an arm’s length away, the floor creaked, rumbled, and then lifted.
A trap door.
Neville squinted into the lamplight, attempting to identify the lamp holder.
Then, he heard the laugh. Slowly, his eyes adjusted, and he recognized Willard’s face by shape.
As Willard leaned in, his features became indistinct, but he wore the same infuriating, lazy smile he had last time he and Neville had met.
Neville would have turned his back if he could. Instead, he closed his eyes.
“You’ve caused me a great deal of trouble,” Willard intoned. “Cath was to have led you here after the theater. I wanted you to witness what I had in store for Millie. But you put a damper on that plan, didn’t you?”
By Cath, he supposed Willard meant Mrs. Cartwright.
“Clever,” Willard continued, “sneaking Millicent out of the theater through the royal box.”
“I thought so.”
What a strange cadence the man’s voice had. Had he noticed that before?
“Yes, I heard all about how you and Harris and Sarah effected the Wainwright girl’s escape,” Willard continued.
“Do you know how many people a theater employs? Tailors, box men, ticket takers, chairwomen, scene painters, even the chandelier cleaner…all paid pitifully low wages, but hoarding a wealth of information. Gossip is cheap, but costly.” He chuckled to himself.
“A paradox that can equally apply to your, ah, lady. You ought not to have troubled yourself and simply let my plans come to fruition.”
“Slight for slight, as you’ve already explained.” Neville let his head loll, as if Willard’s explanation had left him so full of ennui, he’d no choice but to nod off. “Are you finished? I prefer dark silence to your nasal drawl.”
The lamp moved away from Neville’s face to the vicinity of his thigh.
“I’ve waited a very long time for you to show interest in a lady.”
Willard was again out of sight, but, from the sound of his voice, Neville judged him to be close by.
“I’d always planned to sweep whomever you first fell for out from under your nose.
Given your connections, I expected the daughter of an earl at the very least. In fact, had Millicent been one, I’d have married her.
And then I would have taken pleasure in your devastated expression—the same expression you sent me the other night at Almack’s—every time you saw us together. ”
Neville had suspected his actions had placed Millie in danger. To hear Willard spell out the details filled his mouth with bile.
What kind of man married a woman to spite another man? Marriage was a sacrament. A sacred vow. A joining that changed everything.
“What makes you think I would have cared?” Neville forced.
“Harbury gave me the idea. For years, he could never quite manage to hide his distress whenever he saw the Pennington chit.”
Neville supposed his desire for Millie might have been as obvious to others as Harbury’s puppy love had been.
“Honestly, Neville. Who’d have thought a man of your pride would choose one of Simple Simon’s nobodies from the country.
Nobody wards who should never have been admitted to Almack’s.
” Willard made a sound of disgust. “One ends up a duchess, the other a marchioness.” I told Countess Lieven admitting them to Almack’s had been a mistake.
After I dropped a word in that lady’s ear, the Wainwrights were supposed to have become outcasts. ”
Willard had been behind getting Cassie’s and Eliza’s vouchers revoked?
“When I saw the look in your eye, I had to step in before you made the third a countess.”
Clearly, Willard did not know Millie had already become one. That was something, at least.
He cannot hurt her now. Neville held fast to that truth. No matter what happened to him, Millie had the legal protection of his name.
On the other hand, he had heard all of Willard’s nonsense he ever wanted to hear.
“Are you finished?” He craned his neck and made a show of yawning. Then, he assessed Willard with a heavy-lidded gaze. “If not, I’d rather you just kill me. I’d welcome it, in fact. You’ve truly mastered the art of being a bore.”
“Oh, I plan to kill you.” Willard continued to smile. “Bury you, too. Out in the woods where no one would ever think to look for you.”
Neville forced himself to shrug. “You’ll be rid of one Earl Neville but will have to contend with the next.”
“You forget, I have John’s ring.” His smirk widened. “I think he’ll fall in line.”
“I think not.” Neville returned his smile. “John has found Temperance. Do you understand? He has a witness. And, if you kill me, John will then outrank you. And I’m sure he’d be happy to provide testimony.”
Willard’s face turned ugly. “I don’t give a damn about John. The plot against him was only to get to you.”
“Because I taught Asquith to fight back?”
“Not just.” Willard frowned with petulance.
“You, Asquith, Harbury, and Redver, that sorry excuse for a marquess, not one of you have proper respect. Men of our class were born to rule. And yet, you robbed Asquith of an important lesson. Harbury made that dreadfully mismatched marriage. Redver even has people call him Adrian.”
At first, Neville had been enraged. Now, he was just perplexed. “Why the devil do you care?”
“It’s an abomination! What would happen if everyone felt they had a right to the kind of lives we live? Chaos. Society’s rules keep chaos in check.”
“Apparently not,” Neville shot back.
Willard had flushed, and not only because of the lamp’s heat.
Neville should be scared, but he wasn’t. “You truly—passionately—believe you are in the right, don’t you?”
“I am in the right,” he yelled. “I’m protecting order.”
“Are you?” he queried. “You’re an arrogant, criminal hedonist. Where are you in said order?”
Willard sneered. “Everyone thinks you’re so good. So moral. Even my mother says you remind her of her precious brother Geoffrey.”
“A high honor. He received commendation for his valor in the war, did he not?”
Willard’s eyes narrowed. “I suppose you think his estate a worthy place to die.”
“I’d heard the estate had become a house of disrepute.”
“This is now a lodge catering to the needs of men of power, of distinction.”
Of defilement.
But not for long. Neville might run out of time, but the Runner was somewhere in the vicinity collecting evidence.
His mother was in touch with Temperance and would clear John’s name.
And Gerard still had the letter from Mrs. Cartwright.
With Neville missing, others were sure to become involved. The battle would continue.
Yet another benefit to rejecting the idea he had to do everything on his own.
“Why don’t you just get on with killing me?” he suggested.
Willard shrugged. “I’m waiting for Asquith, of course.
All these years, he thought he’d won. Soon, he’ll know differently.
He’ll get a note in the morning, telling him where you can be found.
And, if I’m lucky, Miss Millicent, will come to your rescue, too.
I wanted you to witness her downfall, but I will content myself with her witnessing your death. ”
Every cell in Neville’s body came alive.
Willard’s smile brightened. “The deed would not be satisfying without at least one of your protégés here to watch.”
Willard rose, taking the light with him.
*
Hours, Millie and Asquith had spent on the road. Hours.
By the time she spotted the modest dwelling where they were headed, her fingers were cramped, her legs aching, and her bum sorer than she remembered her backside being since her father’s last thrashing. At least this time, she was suffering for a good end.
Or so she hoped.
They’d just passed a mile marker that indicated the distance to Brighton was less than ten miles.
Their last stop at a local inn confirmed the tollkeeper’s cottage, along with the toll and weighing station, stood at the juncture between the well-maintained turnpike road to Brighton and the private road that veered off in the direction of the hunting lodge. They were headed there, now.
Asquith, a few yards ahead of Millie, turned back.
She lifted a hand in acknowledgement, unsure if he could see her in the fading light or not. Then, she adjusted the scarf across her face. The wind had been brutal and the road surprisingly crowded.
Both she and Asquith were competent riders, and Asquith’s horses were of the best stock, still, the animals could only be pushed so far.
They’d covered thirty-seven miles in five hours.
And, for the last hour, had had to rely on lamplight from the carriages riding along side of them to see the road.
Through every brutal second of their journey, she’d seen the irony of her situation with increasing, piercing clarity.
If something happened to Neville, she’d be respectable, and unattached.
Following an appropriate period of mourning, as a widow, she’d have every possible social freedom, far more than she could have had as a spinster in the country.