Janice Preston - Scandal And Miss Markham

A gleam lit those huge hazel orbs and Vernon was disconcerted by the undeniable kick of his pulse and his sudden impulse to kiss her,

His awareness of her as an attractive woman rattled him into speaking more bluntly than he should.

‘We have no idea what has happened to Daniel, but I know you are aware he could have met with foul play. It would be wholly irresponsible for me to allow you to be exposed to possible danger.’

She blinked and her cheeks paled, causing the freckles that dusted her nose and cheeks to stand out in contrast. Vernon felt a brute all over again, as though he had kicked a puppy. Or—perhaps more fitting in Thea’s case, given his earlier fanciful thoughts—a kitten. He released her chin and clasped her upper arms, bending his knees to look directly into her eyes.

‘I apologise. I did not mean to shock you.’

Her throat convulsed as she swallowed. He had upset her, but she was struggling to conceal her emotions and his respect grew at the way she handled herself in such a horrible situation.

‘Do not lose hope, Miss Markham.’ He gently rubbed her arms, trying to buoy her spirits. ‘There could still be a perfectly reasonable explanation for Daniel’s disappearance.’

She huffed a disbelieving laugh, shaking her head, her curls bouncing. ‘Such as? No, I cannot be hopeful. He would have written to us. He would not stay away without a word.’

Vernon released her and stepped back from the temptation of taking her into his arms again to offer comfort.

‘He might be too ill to write,’ he said. ‘Or he has lost his memory. Or maybe he has written and the letter has been lost en route?’ He paced the room and then returned to come to a halt in front of her. ‘Whatever the reason, I shall discover it, but you must leave this to me. Do you understand?’

‘I understand. Now, if you will excuse me, there are matters requiring my attention.’

‘You will not join me?’

‘I find I no longer have an appetite. Enjoy your luncheon, sir. Ring for George when you have finished eating and he will show you to Daniel’s bedchamber to change your clothing. I shall see you before you leave.’ She left him with a brisk step, leaving the scent of roses lingering in her wake.

* * *

After Vernon had eaten his fill, he was shown upstairs by George.

‘I shall leave as soon as I have changed,’ Vernon told the footman. ‘Could you inform Miss Markham that I will see her downstairs in, shall we say, fifteen minutes?’

He wondered if Thea would come to see him off, or if she would stay away, sulking. No, he decided. Sulking was not Miss Markham’s style.

George bowed and left. Vernon wasted no time in changing into the clothing that would help him to blend in. He donned the fawn-coloured breeches and the respectable linen shirt and neckcloth left on the bed. The boots, however, were too small. He eyed his Hessian boots and their mirror shine with regret as he realised there was nothing for it but to smear them with soil when he went outside, to dull the shine. A moleskin waistcoat and a brown jacket completed Vernon’s transformation from a man of fashion into a respectable country squire.

He ducked to peer into the dressing-table mirror and ruffled his fingers through his hair. At least he would not present himself all neatly barbered at the Nag’s Head and wherever else his enquiries might lead. His hair had needed a trim before he left London, but he had decided to leave it until his return. It was a touch long and unruly, but the less well-groomed his appearance, the less notice he would attract.

He rotated, studying the room: Daniel’s room. Quashing down any guilt—he was trying to help, not snoop—he quickly searched through drawers and cupboards. Nothing. He must hope that someone at the Nag’s Head could either throw some light on the reason Daniel had been riding to Birmingham on a regular basis—if, that is, Pritchard was correct that Daniel had been visiting the city—or that they might solve the mystery of what, or who, Willingdale and R.H. were.

A battered saddlebag had been left on the bed. Inside was a clean shirt and neckcloth, reminding Vernon that this mission might take several days. He slung the bag over one shoulder and, with one last look around, he strode from the room.

In the entrance hall, he waited. The scrunch of hooves on the gravel outside told him that his horse had arrived. He went out to find Bickling holding a dependable-looking bay hunter and sent him running back to the stables to retrieve Vernon’s shaving kit and other personal necessities from his valise in his curricle. When Bickling returned, Vernon stowed the articles in the saddlebag as his groom filled him in on what he’d discovered about Mr Markham’s lost fortune.

‘Seems he raised funds against his business and invested them all in some non-existent scheme through this swindler who befriended the family and then vanished with their money,’ he said. ‘The stress caused Markham senior’s stroke and, although Pritchard clammed up when I tried to get more from him, it seems this fraudster also had something to do with Miss Markham.’

‘In what way?’

Bickling shrugged. ‘The man’s very loyal to Miss Markham. He wouldn’t say more than the bastard took Miss Markham in, too, and that she’s never forgiven herself. Blames herself for her father’s stroke.’

Had he courted her? Had she fallen in love with him? That’s what it sounded like to Vernon. ‘Thank you, Bickling.’

‘Are you sure you don’t want me to come along with you, milord?’

‘There is no need, I can take care of myself and, besides, you’ll be on edge the entire time if you have to leave my blacks in anyone else’s care.’

Bickling was even fussier about Vernon’s horses than he was, if that were possible. And he knew that Bickling would be forever saying ‘milord’, and that would mean no chance of staying discreet.

‘I could always take one of the men from here, but they appear short-staffed already. I will be fine going alone, do not worry.’

‘Very well, milord.’ Bickling’s glum face said it all.

Vernon glanced at the front door. Still no sign of Thea. He did not want to leave without saying goodbye so he went back inside. Immediately he heard hurried footsteps approaching from the nether regions of the house. Thea soon appeared, slightly breathless.

‘Come with me,’ she said. ‘There is something you need to see.’

Chapter Four

Thea had to give his lordship credit: he followed her without question to the gunroom. Once inside, he turned a full circle, eyeing the rows of shotguns, rifles and muskets that lined the walls. The windowless room was illuminated by the three lanterns Thea had lit on her earlier visit. Somehow, with Vernon inside, the room seemed to have shrunk and Thea wrapped her arms defensively around her torso and stepped away from him, putting a little more distance between them.

Vernon tilted his head as he met Thea’s gaze and those penetrating green eyes of his glinted as they caught the light. They felt as though they reached deep into her soul. She just prayed he could not read her thoughts.

‘I trust you do not plan to hold me hostage down here, Miss Markham.’

His comment startled a laugh from her. The thought had crossed her mind. Not to hold him hostage, but to force him at gunpoint to take her with him—a crazy thought that she had dismissed the minute her whirling thoughts, desperate to find a way to go with him, had seized upon it. That crazy idea had, though, led to another plan.

Which was why she had ventured down here to the gunroom in the first place.

‘Have no fear, my lord,’ she said. ‘None of these weapons is loaded. You are quite safe.’