Janice Preston - Scandal And Miss Markham

‘Then why are we here?’

‘It occurred to me to wonder if Daniel was armed,’ she said.

‘Would he normally go out with a gun?’

‘He had a blunderbuss that was always buckled to his saddle, in case of an attack,’ she said. ‘There have been a few robberies on the roads hereabouts, over the past year or so. Daniel said there has been an increase in vagrants wandering the countryside—former soldiers, he reckoned, although others like to blame the gipsies. But a blunderbuss is not a weapon he could carry in his pocket. Look—’ she pointed to the table in the centre of the room ‘—I found that pistol case in the cabinet. It should have two muff pistols inside, plus the flask and balls. Firearms are Daniel’s passion. He bought this case and pistols at an auction in Birmingham a few weeks ago.’

She tilted the case to show the single remaining pistol to Vernon. He whistled.

‘So...your brother went out expecting trouble. Or even danger.’

‘It would appear so, although I cannot understand why he would take that particular pistol. It is very small.’

Vernon moved closer as he peered at the contents of the case, his sleeve brushing Thea’s arm, sending a tingle of awareness racing through her. She shivered in reaction, fighting the urge to leave the room. Her discomfort was unimportant...she must do this for Daniel.

‘Small but deadly,’ Vernon said. ‘I should imagine he took it precisely because its size means it is easily concealed. I see he has several cases of duelling pistols...’ He selected one case at random and opened it. He whistled again, lifting out one of the guns and sighting along the barrel. ‘Manton’s. A fine piece. But, too big to conceal and...’

‘And what?’

He shot her an apologetic look and grimaced. ‘Sorry. I was thinking out loud.’

‘But, having begun to speak, you must now finish,’ Thea said, irritation at her physical reaction to his proximity making her sharp.

She had no wish to be aware of him as an attractive man. Men were not to be trusted.

‘I told you before,’ she went on, ‘I am not one of your fine ladies who needs mollycoddling. I have dealt with hard reality and survived. Please do not patronise me. Do me the courtesy of dealing with me as an intelligent adult, not a child.’

He sighed. ‘Very well. I was about to say that a duelling pistol is not as handy at close quarters.’

Her stomach churned at his words, but she tamped down her fear. She had asked him and he had replied. She could not now blame him because she did not like what she heard. Besides, that was an interesting point to remember. She had already selected and primed a duelling pistol, ready to pack in her saddlebag along with her spare clothing. Daniel had other small pistols—she would take one of those along as well.

‘I thought you should see this for yourself,’ she said to Vernon. ‘As you said, it suggests Daniel was expecting trouble when he left.’

Just speaking those words made her throat constrict with unshed tears but Thea forced her emotions to lie low, knowing she must keep a cool head if she was not to hinder the search for her brother.

‘It is time to go,’ she said, ‘but there is also something else I must show you.’

Vernon raised a brow but, again, followed her unquestioningly. Up the stairs this time and along the upper corridor to the long gallery, where the family portraits hung and where Thea and Daniel practised fencing manoeuvres. The physical exercise had helped Thea to exorcise some of her anger and guilt after Jasper Connor had betrayed her and near bankrupted both Stour Crystal and her family.

Vernon headed straight for the portrait of Thea. ‘It is a good likeness.’

For a second, admiration glowed in his eyes, but Thea ignored the answering tug deep in her core. She could not help but be aware of Vernon’s allure. She’d wager there were ladies galore in the ton who regularly swooned at his feet, given one look from those green eyes, or one of his smiles, brimming with charm, but she was not interested. Not in Lord Vernon Beauchamp nor in any man. Being jilted at the altar tended to have that effect.

‘That is not why we are here,’ she said and led the way to the portrait of Daniel.

Apart from the portraits of Thea and Daniel, and an earlier one of Mama and Papa—painted before Papa had his stroke—there were only landscapes on the walls. Papa had harboured such grand dreams: dreams of building a dynasty, dreams of using his wealth to ensure his grandchildren might be accepted into the ranks of the upper classes, dreams of this gallery being filled with portraits of the generations to come. Now it might all come to naught. Thea would never give him grandchildren and, if Daniel... She choked off that thought, afraid her precarious control would shatter again if she followed her fears to their natural conclusion.

‘That is Daniel,’ she said, feeling another lump form in her throat as she looked up at his strong, dark features. ‘I thought it would help for you to know what he looks like.’

Vernon examined the portrait in silence.

‘He has your eyes,’ he said, eventually, ‘but I see no further resemblance.’

‘He gets his colouring from Mama, but he is tall like Papa,’ Thea said. They headed for the door. ‘I get my red hair from Papa, but my height—or, rather, my lack of it—from Mama.’

Back in the entrance hall, Vernon picked up the saddlebag by the front door.

‘I shall have to hope,’ he remarked, regarding his reflection in a mirror with a grimace, ‘that I do not meet anyone with whom I am acquainted. They will think I have run quite mad, dressed like this.’

Thea bit back her scathing retort.

‘I shall write to let you know what I find out about your brother and how my cousin is connected to him.’ A frown creased his forehead. ‘I still find it hard to believe Henry has anything to do with your brother’s disappearance. I have every hope of discovering the two things are unconnected.’

Which, again, proved Thea was right to follow him as she planned. If Henry Mannington was found to have no connection with Daniel’s disappearance, Vernon would go chasing off after Henry and what chance then would Thea have of finding Daniel?

She followed Vernon down the front steps, where Bickling, his groom, held the reins of Warrior, one of Daniel’s favourite hunters. Vernon swung into the saddle, raised his hand in farewell and set off down the carriageway at a brisk trot.

Thea watched until horse and rider disappeared from sight, then spun on her heel and raced up to her bedchamber. There was no time to lose. She had already told her mother she was going to visit a sick friend for a few days and Mama, as usual, showed little interest in Thea’s activities; she had never forgiven her daughter for the disaster that had befallen their family.

Thea had also written to Charles Leyton, the manager at Stour Crystal, to warn him he would not be able to contact either her or Daniel for a week or so. She hoped she would not be away as long as that, but it was best to err on the side of caution.

It was a relief to be taking action—she had been near paralysed with indecision until Lord Vernon’s visit, afraid of the consequences should Stour Crystal’s customers, or—God forbid—their rivals, learn that Daniel was missing. Uncertainty was bad for business. If she was responsible for spreading rumours and Daniel turned up unscathed, he would, rightly, be furious with her. She had caused enough trouble for the business six years ago. She could not bear to be the cause of more.

She had slipped across to the stables earlier, whilst Vernon was eating, and taken Malky—the groom who had taught her and Daniel to ride—into her confidence about her plan. He had not been happy but, in the end, he had agreed to saddle Thea’s favourite mare, Star, with a conventional saddle so she could ride astride and to meet Thea, with Star, on the edge of the copse behind the walled kitchen garden, out of sight of both the house and the stables.