Chapter 22 Magellan
Magellan
Rhys, on the other hand, preferred to think she was mentally ill.
She choked back a sob, letting him drag her to the house.
She was still reeling from their kiss and wished it hadn’t happened, because now she knew what it would be like between them.
Never had she experienced such passion, and she didn’t know if she would ever see him again.
She had tried to make him listen, but he had decided this was the best course.
By the time they drew near the house, she’d stopped begging him to let her stay. Her whole body was quaking with fear. She pulled her hand away from his, trying to be strong.
“What about the diary?” she asked, unable to hide the tremble in her voice.
“I gave it back to him, since it’s his.”
She fought back another sob. The diary was the only thing anchoring her here, and Rhys had given it away. She would have to figure out how to get it back. She needed to know the rest of Gwynedd’s instructions before they ran out of time.
This was a nightmare. She was being kicked out of Hereford Manor with Rhys thinking he was doing the best thing for her.
Returning her to her family “to rest” at a vicar’s house.
He kept promising he would come for her in two days.
When he did, she would pretend to be cured.
She would pretend anything to get back here to him, to finish translating the diary, and somehow get to London to meet Fanny Mendelssohn.
When they arrived at the salon, the countess was there with Vivianne, Cecil, and Lord Erickson, as well as a few servants. Everyone had been looking for her.
A balding man in a suit clutched his hat in his hands. “There she is! My girl.” He came toward her. “My darling girl.”
The world began to spin, and Magellan fought back a panic attack. It was a miracle she didn’t throw up. She had never met this man before in her life.
Were those tears glistening in his eyes? No wonder he had convinced them all.
Rhys assured her again, “I’ll come visit you in two days.” He looked to the man. “If that is acceptable with you, sir?”
“Of course, of course! I’ll tell my cousin to expect you.”
Vivianne said, “I’d like to come too, please.” Rhys’s sister was tearing up, seeing how distraught Magellan was. Even Cecil was upset. The countess was the most emotional. She had her face buried in a handkerchief, weeping.
One of the servants hurried into the room and handed Rhys a satchel. Rhys then handed the satchel to “her father” and said to him, “I asked the kitchen to pack some provisions for you and your daughter for the carriage ride, for her physical condition.”
The man looked confused for a brief moment but took the bag. “Of course. Of course, my lord, thank you so much.”
Rhys was sending her away and yet he had packed her snacks for the road so she wouldn’t feel sick. The gesture was so sweet it made her want to cry again. She didn’t know how to try to convince him anymore.
He took her hand and kissed the air above it and met her eyes. “I will come,” he reassured her, the echo of their kiss still in his eyes.
She nodded stoically, pulling her hand away.
“Off we go, then.” The man claiming to be her father kept a firm hold on her arm and led her to the carriage, saying “There, there, my girl . . .” in a soothing manor as if she were a horse about to bolt.
But where could she go? The man had the diary, and she needed it back.
She needed to bide her time for two days.
Then Rhys would come. She knew he would.
She turned back before she got into the carriage. It looked like Rhys was in physical pain. The countess clung to his arm. Magellan got into the carriage and settled into her seat facing forward. The man got in and sat across from her. Then he waved a jovial goodbye to everyone out the window.
Magellan was too busy focusing on her breathing to look back.
If she looked, she would suffer a panic attack the likes of which she might never recover from.
Right now, she was in a carriage with a stranger.
Everything was wrong. So wrong. She knew it in her bones, and her breath started to quicken out of control as the carriage got underway.
The man posing as her father sat back with a satisfied sigh. He stared at her silently, his smile gone.
Magellan said while puffing out little breaths, “You and I both know,” puff, “you are not,” puff puff, “my father.”
“’Tis true, ’tis true. That we do know, girlie,” he agreed with a thick cockney accent and reached into his jacket pocket.
Swift as a snake striking, he put a cloth over her mouth, cutting off her scream. She clawed at him, but he held her in a vise. “Rhys!” She tried calling out for help, her voice muffled as the reeking fumes struck her like a hammer and the world around her went dark.