Chapter Thirty-One
Life was full of the unexpected. And the unpleasant. Trentham certainly hadn’t anticipated Dessie storming across the room to slap his face. The force her little palm was capable of delivering was another surprise. An awful sting. It would leave a mark.
“You horrible, horrible man!” She rubbed her palm against her hip.
Lynch bore down on them rapidly. Trentham wasn’t sure if he should prepare to duck.
“Dess, Robin isn’t to blame. He can’t be two places at once.”
“Oh, he’s guilty enough!”
No doubt that was true. But of what? A wave of nausea hit him—proposing to Lady Elizabeth? But no, that wouldn’t require him to be in two places at once. He tried to keep his voice light. “Would someone please explain what it is that I am supposed to have done?”
He cast his gaze around the gathering. His chest tightened when he noticed a round-bellied, gray-haired gentleman standing inconspicuously in back, leaning against the marble mantelpiece.
Beside him stood a pretty older woman, a little taller than the man.
The woman looked embarrassed; the man, entertained.
This was not the introduction to Miss Delancey’s father that he would have chosen.
Nevertheless, it wouldn’t do to have a complete stranger listen in while everyone discussed whatever his latest sin was.
He nodded to the fellow. “Good day, sir. You must be Mr. Delancey.” He looked to the woman.
“And you are”—bollocks, he’d only ever heard Lynch mention one name for her—“Aunt Grace. I am the Duke of Trentham.”
“Delighted to meet you, your lordship,” the old fellow blundered.
“Your Grace,” Dessie said in an exasperated tone. “He’s a duke. He’s addressed as ‘Your Grace’.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Trentham said. Too many “Graces” here.
As long as the fellow didn’t call him “Robin”.
He couldn’t understand why this was so hard for Americans, but he did know, as Dessie should, that a daughter oughtn’t correct her father in public.
“I’m more interested in what it is that Lynch and Mr. Cameron can’t believe.
” He shot Dessie a sour look. “But apparently you can.”
And Miss Delancey? Had she weighed in on whatever it was?
“Well, I don’t believe it anymore,” Dessie said, pouting.
“Lynch?”
“It’s absurd. Start to finish, absurd.”
Trentham listened as Lynch related what he’d heard that morning in the coffee shop while meeting with Lord Selborne.
Bloody hell! So, they had known, since early in the day, that he was now betrothed to Lady Elizabeth. Miss Delancey must hate him. She should hate him. Although desperate to see her expression, he also dreaded it, and couldn’t force his head to turn.
“Robin,” Lynch continued, touching his arm, bringing back his attention, “Dessie and Ophelia went to talk with Lady Elizabeth and found her gone. She left a note saying she’d eloped. Barrington maintains she did it for spite, and that you did it to avoid a marriage contract.”
“Eloped! They think I scarpered off with the chit to guard my purse?” Dessie’s slap was nothing compared to this body blow. How could anyone believe him to be that petty? That vile?
At least, he’d caught enough of the tail end of the debate to know Lynch and Eli had stood by him, yet again. His gaze shifted to Miss Delancey. Her face was pale and head lowered. She had believed it.
To his horror, Lynch wasn’t finished. “Unfortunately, that’s just the beginning. Dessie and Ophelia went to the train station to try to stop you. But they learned you hadn’t gone to Scotland. Rather, you went to Lannington.” He added, “Supposedly.”
“It’s what the ticket seller told us,” Dessie said. “You bought tickets to Gretna Green, but then also used a woman to help you secretly buy tickets to Southampton.”
This was eviscerating. He took three steps backward and groped behind for a chair.
Then sat heavily. Curled forward. Pulled his hand through his hair.
“So, you concluded I lured Lady Elizabeth to the train station with the promise of a wedding over the anvil, only to switch the destination to Lannington, where I couldn’t have had the slightest intention of marrying her before nightfall? ”
And Miss Delancey believed this? Anger, humiliation, despair—a sickening stew of emotions roiled him. This was what she thought of him? The devil take her.
“Well, Robin!” Dessie fumed. “Do you think the ticket seller was lying? Don’t you think that would be an awfully elaborate story to make up on the spot? And why would he have chosen Southampton? He wouldn’t have known your estate was close by! Explain that!”
“I can’t.”
With admirable calm, Lynch said, “Let’s think this through. Start again from the beginning. You affianced yourself to Lady Elizabeth? Is that much true?”
He nodded dumbly.
Eli spoke up. “He did it to spare Lady Townes.” When all eyes turned to him, Eli said, “Sorry, Robin, but they should know. Barrington has influence over the judges on the Divorce Court. He threatened to ruin her if Robin didn’t agree to wed Lady Elizabeth.”
Miss Delancey’s quietly groaned “oh” grated on his heart. He didn’t want her sympathy. He wanted her trust.
“Robin is not an idiot,” Lynch said. Which Trentham appreciated, though he couldn’t agree. “If Felicity’s case is at stake, he’s not going to do something that would infuriate Barrington more.” He paused, shaking his head angrily, then asked, “So, what happened next?”
Next? Next, he was accused of abduction. By the Delancey sisters.
Eli said, “Last night, Mr. Derry contacted Robin. He wanted to meet this morning.” Eli faced him. “What did you learn?”
“This morning?” Trentham’s voice rasped. That was forever ago. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Felicity will be fine. Derry found—he found Sir George has debts.” Rubbing his hands on his thighs, he said, “I can elaborate later. The point is, there will be no divorce.”
Quiet met that declaration. Stunned quiet. He supposed it didn’t help his defense. Felicity’s case wasn’t at stake. He could afford, now, to infuriate Barrington.
Lynch began again. “Who else, besides Derry, has seen you today? Here, in London.”
“My sister. Her two neighbors. And at least a dozen fellows at Pratt’s.”
Lynch broke into a smile. “So Felicity is spared a trial. And Barrington can’t possibly accuse you of eloping with his daughter. This is good news.”
“Ah. True.” He should be thanking God, but he was benumbed. He still felt accused. He heard Gilliam’s voice, bellowing in the courtroom. Dissolute rake. Fanny’s sobs. The bang of the gavel. The whispers in the street. Moral degenerate. His father’s cold rebuke.
Did he deserve this? Still? He didn’t see himself as dastardly. He’d been trying to convince the ton that he was not. But…but was he? Had his good behavior all been an act? Was his true nature caddish? He’d taken liberties with Miss Delancey.
Was he no better than his randy twenty-year-old self?
“What about Lady Elizabeth?” Dessie said. “She is gone.”
“I don’t know!” Trentham snapped. “She ran off, I suppose.” The girl was that desperate not to marry him. Gad! The room was hot and close. He needed to open a window. Loosen his collar.
“She didn’t simply ‘run off’,” Miss Delancey said, drawing his eyes to her against his will. Her face was tense, not angry, but tense. “She eloped. There was a man with her. The ticket seller saw him. So, who was with her, and why would they go to your estate?”
“How the hell should I know? Or are you accusing me now of hiring a bullyboy to carry her off?” He couldn’t stop himself from throwing out the angry words.
“Of course not.” She threw up her hands. “We’re just trying to make sense of this.”
“Do you think they were trying to make Lord Barrington suspect Trentham?” Dessie asked, apparently now converted to his side. “The note she left for her parents didn’t name the man. It just said ‘we.’ I’m sure that was deliberate.”
Again, silence fell. But Trentham’s brain began to engage.
Pieces of the puzzle slipped into place.
“Not Lannington. They weren’t trying to be obfuscating.
They did go to Southampton.” He stood abruptly and started pacing, skirting the end tables and chairs, moving away from his audience, toward the wall.
He’d been so self-absorbed he hadn’t seen what was right beneath his nose.
Thinking aloud, spinning to face them, he said, “She wasn’t giving me the cut direct at your dinner party. She was entranced by Hayworth.”
“Oh!” Dessie said. Her eyes went wide and she rocked on her feet. “We saw them! At Gunther’s. Ophelia, she bamboozled us!”
“What do you mean?” Lynch demanded.
“She said her mother made her go for a carriage ride with Hayworth to make Trentham jealous. It seemed silly, of course, but we thought Lady Barrington was being foolish, so it also seemed plausible. I never doubted Bitsy.” Then she frowned.
“But why Southampton and not Gretna Green? Hayworth seems like such a decent young—”
“Southampton is a port,” Miss Delancey said quietly. “They went there for the ships.” Her voice rose. “He’s taking her to Greece. To…what did they call it? Orchomenus. Like that archeologist couple.”
Trentham nodded, relief flooding through him. “Hayworth may be decent, but he’s dangerously na?ve. I’ll wager they plan to wed when they’re shipboard. The idiots expect the captain will marry them.”
Lynch snorted.
“Why not?” Dessie asked.
“Because it’s a myth,” Trentham answered. “Ship captains have no authority to perform weddings except in novels. And even if there is a vicar on board, he won’t marry two underage lovebirds with no license.”
“So she’ll be compromised,” Miss Delancey murmured. “Oh, poor Elizabeth.”
This was his fault. He’d driven her to ruin.
Had he not been courting her, she would have met Hayworth at some London function or another, and things could have taken an entirely different course.
Hayworth was a viscount. If he had enough of a fortune to pursue his mad obsession, he had money enough to satisfy Barrington.
They might have been deliriously happy. Now, they’d be outcasts. Unless…
He sighed. “Right, then. I’ve got to go after her.”
Lynch groaned. “Robin, that’s ridiculous. You can’t catch them. It’ll take at least seven hours to get to Southampton, even the way you drive that curricle.”
“I don’t have to get there before them. Ships are not going to set sail so late in the day.
I’ll catch them in the port.” He paused.
He couldn’t fit three in his curricle on the return, not for seven hours.
And his coach was too cumbersome and conspicuous for a run to Southampton.
“Lynch, send a wire to March. Tell him to bring the barouche I keep at Lannington. Quick. It should take him less than an hour. He can start scouring the train station and the docks. But tell him not to accost them, just follow them quietly. We don’t want to risk the scandal of getting bobbies involved.
Have him send me a wire at Greatham, that’ll be the last coaching inn on the way, to let me know if he’s found them. ”
“And when you get back?” Lynch asked.
If he succeeded? “I’ll dump Lady Elizabeth at her home and leave Hayworth to explain.”