Chapter 41
Lord Berkeley and Lord Bowcott declined refreshment, so instead Alice and the two men moved to the room just off the entry hall.
Her hands fluttered at her sides, belying her nerves.
But not an ounce of concern was left for the fact that two high-ranking men she’d never before met were before her.
No, her heart raced because of the danger she worried that Henry was in.
“And he left, you say?” Lord Berkeley’s brow was creased.
These two were, by their admission, friends of Henry’s, but she was not certain how much she could trust them. At the moment, it felt as if she could trust no one.
Alice wrapped her arms around herself. “Yes, and . . . ”
Lord Bowcott, who stood behind the couch, hands braced against the back as if he had too much energy to sit, raised a brow. “And?”
“You are his friends? How well do you know him?”
Lord Bowcott cocked a thumb at Lord Berkeley, then himself. “We’re his only friends.”
“You two always paint such a good picture of my brother,” Julia said, entering the room with a smile for the men.
“Julia,” Alice breathed, standing and crossing to her. She’d sent Milton for her but was not certain how quickly he would be successful.
Julia spared a smile and a squeeze of the arm for Alice, then faced the men. “What do you know?”
“Only that Hastings put out a reward for Henry’s location and Julia’s maid confirmed that they were here. As soon as we heard, we left.”
Alice’s breath caught. He’d told her his debts were immense, but somehow hearing it from these strangers made it all the more real.
Julia nodded. “I suppose those debts have finally caught up to him, but that is not all afoot tonight. And I think only Alice can answer the rest?”
Both men’s gazes swung to Alice. Her neck grew hot, and her tongue glued itself to the top of her mouth.
“He is in love with her,” Julia said to the lords, then turned to Alice. “He would have confided in you, am I correct?”
Lord Bowcott’s brows shot up. Lord Berkeley’s eyes even widened. Alice felt much the same.
“Praise the Almighty,” Lord Bowcott breathed.
Lord Berkeley dipped his head in agreement.
And Alice’s neck grew hotter. “He is not . . . that is . . . ”
“Stop gawking at her, you two,” Julia snapped. “You’re making her uncomfortable.”
As if Julia were a general and they her subordinates, both men tore their gazes away, but a moment later, Lord Bowcott’s returned. “I apologize, only that Henry has not allowed anyone close in years. I admit to both amazement and wholehearted relief. If he has let you in . . . he is changing.”
“He has done more for me than I for him, I assure you,” Alice responded. She felt the truth of it, despite the last two days.
Lord Berkeley nodded solemnly. “Then let us find him. You are certain he is not at the party?”
“Well, it is a masquerade,” Julia said at the same time Alice said, “I am certain.”
Julia tipped her head at Alice. “Trust her.”
Lord Berkeley leaned forward, elbows on knees. “Do you have any ideas where he might be?”
“There is a smuggling ring, and—”
“A what?” Julia asked, startled.
Alice nodded. “Your brother believed Lord Jennings to be involved, and I think his attempt to corner the man must have gone south. They’ve left.”
“You are certain that . . . I do not mean to discount what he told you, but he couldn’t have just wanted a drink? Perhaps it all got to be too much for him?” Julia offered.
“No,” Alice declared. “He would not do that.”
Again, surprise touched both men’s faces, and before they could ask, Alice directed her explanation to them. “I do not keep alcohol in the house. Henry has not had a drop since he arrived.”
“Laid him out nearly a week, even,” Julia cut in.
“Gads, woman,” Lord Bowcott said, “you’ve made even more of an impression than we gave you credit for.”
“I am sorry, I think we need to return to the smuggling ring,” Lord Berkeley said, his eyes steady on Alice’s.
“Yes,” Alice said. Her hands still shook, but that would not stop her.
Henry needed help, and these men could give it.
“Henry was hired by a man—I do not know the particulars—to discover information about piracy on the island which led him to the smuggling ring. He believed Lord Jennings, one of my guests, was involved. He chased him from the house not long ago.”
“Which way?” Lord Berkeley asked.
My, but he was an imposing figure.
“Milton said they left by the main road. That is the way to Dunsmore.”
Lord Berkeley stood, straightening his coat. Lord Bowcott clapped his thigh with his hat. “We might have just missed him, then. Do not worry, Mrs. Seymour, we will find him.”
Alice almost didn’t ask because she needed to stay with her guests, but how could she return to pretending she was the perfect hostess after this? What did it matter if a few people raised brows or her servants disagreed with her choice? “Can I come with you?”
The men hesitated. “It is not that we do not want you, Mrs. Seymour, only . . . ” Lord Bowcott began, glancing sidelong at his friend.
Lord Berkeley finished the thought. “My wife once went with Henry on a search for me, and it became quite dangerous for her. If smugglers are truly involved . . . ”
Alice’s heart sank. She understood and did not wish to delay them any further. “I understand entirely.” She swallowed. “Return him whole, please.”
“We intend to,” Lord Bowcott said with a dip of his head.
Alice saw them off but was not ready yet to return to the ball. She couldn’t. “I will be in soon. I just need a moment,” she told Julia.
Her friend gave her a small smile and squeezed her hand. “Would you like me to stay with you?”
“No. Thank you, though.”
Julia nodded, as if she understood. “Take your time.” With that, she disappeared.
It was dark outside now. How would they find Henry? Was it smart to send his friends off like that, with no knowledge of the island?
“Mrs. Seymour,” Milton said, standing solemnly off to the side. “There is something more. I did not want to say anything in front of those men, in case . . . well . . . ”
“What is it, Milton?” Alice asked, crossing to her butler.
“Sir Henry asked me to tell you something before he left. For your ears alone.”
Alice nodded. “Yes, tell me.”
“He said to wait for him in the kitchens with Mrs. Martha. That you would be safe there.”
Alice blinked. “Oh. Yes, well . . . but the guests.”
“I will see to it everything is taken care of. Forgive me, but I do believe Sir Henry had your best interests at heart and perhaps you should listen to him.”
Alice’s mind raced, but she trusted Henry. And she trusted Martha.
“I will go.”
Milton appeared relieved, and Alice felt a rush of endearment that the butler would worry after her.
She passed only a few of her servants in her walk to the kitchen, but when she stepped inside, it was strangely deserted. Her head swiveled to take in each empty corner. Where had Martha gone?
The door behind her closed and she jumped, turning to see Lieutenant Shelbourne with his hand flat against the wooden face.
Instinctively, she began to draw away. “Lieutenant,” she said, infusing her voice with command. “I need to be getting back to my guests.”
“I sincerely doubt they will miss you. You invited quite a crowd. It has helped immensely.” His eyes were dark holes boring through her.
“No, I told several that I would be—”
He cut her off, taking a step closer. “Mrs. Seymour, I need you to tell me where the jewels are.”
“I . . . the what?”
He came even closer, filling her view, the smell of alcohol wrinkling her nose. “There are men searching your rooms even now. If you tell me where they are, it would save us a great deal of time.”
She had to look up to maintain eye contact with him—and she felt she had to do so, even though his hardened eyes made her wish to flinch away. Men in her rooms? A boulder fell into her stomach.
No. Shelbourne couldn’t possibly be. But it was Jennings that—
“I have a few trinkets . . . but I do not . . . What do you mean? Where is Martha?”
He ignored her final question. “The ones your husband took. Where are they?”
“Lieutenant Shelbourne, I have only a few gifts from George and haven’t a clue what you mean. What is going on?” He had to be involved as well. Smuggling or piracy or whatever nefarious deeds were happening on her island. In her home. But this line of questioning made no sense.
He pushed her, and she flailed backward, barely maintaining her footing. She stumbled into the rough wooden table at which she’d kneaded bread dozens of times. Her mind spun from the near-fall and the situation.
Questions kept uselessly floating to the forefront of her thoughts, though they were no help to her now. What had happened to her staff? Where was Martha?
Was her cook involved too? Her servants? Or had they been hurt by the crazed man before her?
He grasped her upper arm and dragged her to the door, his hand a vice. “I suppose we will have to do this the difficult way, blasted woman.”