The Resolute Runaway Read online

  Which left Dorie, as the night progressed, with nothing to do except cudgel her brains for another way to delay their progress.

  * * * *

  Lying in bed late that night, Joanna was forced to conclude that Lady Letitia had been wrong to think her brave. If she were brave, she would have agreed to the plan Lady Letitia had proposed. It was actually quite a reasonable plan, and had much to recommend it.

  All she had to do, in fact, was travel on her own from London to Edinburgh, there to accept a position as companion to Alexander’s mother, Lady Glengarry, a woman Joanna had never met. Lady Letitia, however, was a good friend of Lady Glengarry’s and had assured Joanna that the lady would be a most kind and understanding person to work for.

  To be sure, such a course of action might show Nicholas that she was no longer in need of brotherly protection ... except that she could not bring herself to take such a radical step. The mere thought of traveling for hours—days—in a carriage with total strangers was appalling.

  Added to that was the fact that she would have to cope with procuring meals along the way, fighting off the advances of whatever cads and bounders lurked around posting inns, just waiting to take advantage of young girls traveling alone...

  No, it was not to be thought of. At least Joanna could not think of it without feeling again the old panic, which meant she was in truth a coward, no matter what Lady Letitia might say to the contrary.

  * * * *

  “And I say, if we do not stop soon so that I might have a bath, and if you do not procure some fresh clothes for me, then by the time we reach Gretna Green I shall be quite the most repellent bride ever married over the anvil. In fact—” here Dorie wrinkled up her nose in distaste—“I would appreciate it if you, too, would condescend to fresh up your person. You are beginning to reek.”

  Blackstone stared at her for long moments, his face wiped clean of expression, and Dorie concentrated on projecting an image of feminine indignation.

  “That is indeed blunt speaking, my sweet,” the earl finally replied. “I begin to suspect that I shall find more satisfaction in our marriage than I had anticipated. I do hate mealy mouthed females.”

  He had not actually agreed to stop, but perhaps if she acted as if he had? “But I warn you,” she said firmly, “that I have no intention of wearing some maid’s cast-off gown. You can send that miserable servant of yours around to the shops to purchase something suitable.”

  Holding his hands palms up, Blackstone replied, “But, my dear, you overestimate my resources. Had I not been fortunate in the nag I picked at Newmarket, I would not even now have the wherewithal to pay for teams of horses on this journey. But I am afraid my winnings do not extend to the purchase of dresses and bonnets for ladies.”

  Dorie uttered a very unladylike oath she had overheard in the stables, and Blackstone laughed. “My sweet, I am in complete charity with you, but alas and alack, I am not plump enough in the pocket to do as you request. Regrettably, we must push onward, ever onward.”

  “Here,” Dorie said in disgust, pulling a gold ring set with a blue sapphire off her finger. Holding it out to him, she said, “This should cover the cost of several dresses and bonnets.”

  Taking it from her hand, he held it up to the better light near the window and regarded it appraisingly, then tucked it into the pocket of his waistcoat.

  Dorie wanted to ask him if his acceptance of the ring meant they would be stopping, but she realized just in time that any further questions on her part would be interpreted by Blackstone as a sign of weakness. So she settled back in her corner of the carriage and studiously ignored the earl ... all the while hoping the light was dim enough that he could not see how the pulse was pounding in her throat.

  Her acting ability was also needed when they arrived at the Two Lions in Penrith. To her great relief, the earl helped her alight from the carriage, then gave the landlord orders that they would need a room and hot water for two baths. If she let the earl see how overjoyed she was, he might even yet change his mind and decide to push onward—which meant Nicholas could not possibly catch up with them in time.

  So she contented herself with hissing angrily at the earl that if he thought she would agree to sharing a room with him before they were married, then he was about to witness a bout of feminine hysterics that would be talked about here in Penrith for years to come.

  Gallantly offering her his arm as if he were in truth a gentleman, Blackstone laughingly agreed to her demand. “But be warned, my pet, that after we are married, nothing will keep me out of your bedroom.”

  * * * *

  The earl was regrettably prompt about disposing of her sapphire ring and procuring her a new dress and a change of linen. Dawdle though she might, Dorie was unable to delay their journey longer than an hour and three-quarters.

  She wished there were some way she could determine if Nicholas had even yet discovered which way they had gone. With a sigh, she admitted to herself that owing to her stupidity in sending Nicholas off on a wild-goose chase to Vauxhall Gardens, even a full day’s delay might avail her nothing.

  But on the other hand, she did feel immensely better now that she was clean again, so from that standpoint the stopover was successful.

  Hearing the key turn in the lock, she rushed to open the door, determined to cajole Blackstone into allowing her to partake of a light nuncheon before they set their journey forward. Instead, Dorie found herself face-to-face with Billy.

  His arm was twisted behind his back, held in the firm grip of the earl’s coachman. Behind the pair of them stood Blackstone himself, not a trace remaining of his earlier amiability.

  “My servant informs me that he saw this very same stable lad at the Green Man in Barnet. Would you care to explain how he has managed to match our speed for more than two hundred and eighty miles?”

  Chapter 14

  The news at the Two Lions in Penrith was better than Alexander could possibly have hoped for. Blackstone had evidently grown so confident he was not being pursued that he had chosen to remain in the town for more than two hours and was now on the road only half an hour ahead. Barring a carriage accident, Alexander could foresee no problem in stopping the earl before he managed to carry Miss Donnithorne across the River Sark.

  The unforeseen is precisely that, however—unforeseen. Having arranged for a quick change of teams, Alexander was about to set forth on the last thirty miles of the journey when he was delayed by a miserably unhappy stableboy.

  “If you please, your lordship, I knows you’re in a powerful hurry, but I got to tell you what they done to Billy. That earl—Blackstone, the one what’s abducting the young lady—he discovered Billy’d been hiding in the boot, and he sent for the magistrate and brought charges against Billy for being a stowaway. Billy’d already told me the whole story, ‘bout everything what happened, and if it’d’ve been me, I’d’ve told the world what the earl was doing, but I reckon Billy kept mum so’s to protect the lady’s reputation.”

  It was an unfortunate turn of events, but Billy would have to stay locked up for a few hours, Alexander decided. As soon as Miss Donnithorne was safe, they could return together for Billy, but until then—

  “Oh, m’lord, please, Sir George is a hard one, and he says he’ll have the truth out of Billy before the sun is over the yardarm.”

  Round-eyed, the boy stared up at him, and Alexander knew he was well and truly caught. And he was also reasonably sure this was exactly what Blackstone had had in mind when he’d called for the magistrate.

  Alexander’s decision to waste precious minutes seeking out the magistrate was not reached easily. Of the two people needing his help, Miss Donnithorne was his primary concern. He could not begin to feel as much anxiety for a groom he barely knew as he did for the love of his life.

  On the other hand, his fair lady had willfully set her foot on this course—receiving more than she had bargained for, no doubt—all for the sake of adventure. Billy, however, had gotten himself invol
ved not out of a love of mischief, but out of a desire to protect his mistress, and were it not for Billy’s help thus far, Alexander might even yet be in London—totally ignorant of what was going forth.

  No matter how he looked at it, Alexander could not allow Miss Donnithorne’s thoughtless, foolhardy actions to injure Billy, which meant Alexander would first have to rescue the boy, even if it meant he did not catch up to the other carriage before it crossed the river into Scotland.

  After ascertaining the directions to Sir George’s residence, a former merchant’s house just this side of the White Ox, Alexander was soon pounding on the door, determined to minimize the delay as much as possible.

  Sir George, he was told, was occupied at the moment—could he come back in a few hours?

  Sir George, Alexander told the servant, would do well to remember what his ancestors had learned from hard experience, namely, that raiders from across the border were not put off by polite requests.

  Forcing his way into the house, he easily followed the sounds of a child’s cries to the back of the house, where Sir George was employing the time-honored method of extracting the “truth” from reluctant victims.

  Or rather, he was attempting to do so. Apparently Billy was quite lacking in the proper submissive spirit, and Sir George was berating his two menservants for not managing to catch the boy and hold him fast.

  Moments later the whip was in Alexander’s hand, the servants had taken to their heels, and Sir George was the one cowering on his knees. “But his lordship swore an oath that the boy was lying! Surely you don’t expect me to disbelieve the word of a peer of the realm? He is an earl, after all.”

  “I expect you to when the earl is infamous—despised throughout the length and breadth of England. Or haven’t you heard of the man nicknamed Lord Blackheart?”

  “No, no.” The magistrate clutched the hem of Alexander’s coat. “I hadn’t heard—we live so far out of the way here—”

  “Then perhaps, living so close to the border, you have heard the name Glengarry?” Alexander said in a menacing voice. “Or are you so isolated that my name also means nothing to you?” Although Alexander could not rightfully claim that he had done anything to make his name notorious, his father had had a violent temper when he was in his cups, and his grandfather had been a regular old tartar whom no one dared to cross.

  Sir George turned even whiter if that were possible. “Oh, please, my lord, I had no idea—”

  “That’s a bunch of poppycock,” Billy piped up, sauntering over to stand beside Alexander. “I told you and told you that the earl was a bad one and that Lord Glengarry was comin’ and he would be fearful angry. So that means you’re lyin’ to his lordship, and you told me yourself, liars has got to be whipped.”

  It was obvious the magistrate had not had his hands on the boy long enough to break his spirit, but Alexander carefully kept the grin off his face. Let the man have a taste of his own medicine for a few more minutes.

  “No, no, please, I beg you!” The man bent even lower, transferring his attentions from Alexander’s coat to his boots. “It was an honest mistake, my lord, an honest mistake.”

  Alexander threw the whip on the floor, but the other man made no effort to pick it up and defend himself. “I have no time today to deal with sniveling cowards like you, but be warned—if you continue to fulfill the duties of your office without compassion, I shall hear of it, and I shall return.”

  Leaving the man sobbing on the floor, Alexander strode out of the house with Billy. Not surprisingly, no one made any effort to stop them.

  “Did he hurt you badly?” he asked the boy, who winced when he climbed up into the carriage.

  “Didn’t manage to lay a hand on me,” Billy said with a cocky grin. “Though I can’t say I was sorry to see you charge through that door. And I can’t say I’m sorry to be sitting in the carriage instead of tucked up in the boot. I like to got bruises on top of my bruises.” With those words he began to burrow into the hamper of food beside him on the seat, and before they had breasted the first steep hill leading out of Penrith, he had consumed two thick sandwiches, three boiled eggs, and half a roast chicken.

  * * * *

  “A word with you, Goldsborough.”

  Recognizing the voice of Lieutenant Thomas Walrond, who had served in his old regiment, Nicholas paused on the steps of White’s and waited for his friend to catch up with him. “But how is this, Walrond? You are not in uniform.”

  The smile that lit up the younger man’s face was truly infectious, and despite his worries for Dorie, Nicholas began to smile too.

  “Sold out just yesterday. M’great-uncle finally came through. Always said he would leave everything to me, but you never know with old bachelors. Might have married his housekeeper in his dotage and fathered a brat of his own.”

  “So you have come into a fortune?”

  Walrond looked sheepish. “Well, as to that, ‘fortune’ is a bit of an exaggeration. But I’m now the sole owner of Fair Winds. ‘Tis only a medium-sized estate in Hertfordshire, but it’s been in the family for generations. M’uncle kept it well maintained and free and clear of mortgage, and he left me the blunt to run it properly with enough over that m’wife won’t be needing to pinch pennies.”

  “Wife? Am I to wish you happy, then?”

  “Don’t know.” The color rose in Walrond’s face. “That is, haven’t asked her yet. That’s what I was wanting to talk to you about.”

  Nicholas knew what his friend was going to say before he even said it, and with a sinking heart Nicholas wished he’d chosen to go to Brooks’s today instead of White’s. As futile as it would be in the long run, at this point he would welcome even a day’s postponement of the inevitable.

  “Wasn’t quite sure what was proper in this case, since her brother is dead and she don’t have any other relatives, but you seem to be acting in the capacity of guardian.”

  “You wish to make Miss Pettigrew an offer?”

  “If you’ve no objections.”

  Nicholas had many objections—starting with the fact that he wanted to marry Miss Pettigrew himself—but none of his objections were valid. If he had deliberately set out to pick the ideal husband for Joanna, it would have been someone exactly like Walrond, who was kind, brave, even-tempered, hardworking, sober, and industrious. Unfortunately, even Walrond’s relatives were all highly thought of.

  The only thing Walrond had lacked until now was sufficient assets to support a wife, and that deficiency had apparently been corrected by an uncle, who could not have died at a more inauspicious time, at least as far as Nicholas was concerned.

  “I have no objections,” he said finally.

  “When would be a good time to call on her?” Walrond asked. “Tomorrow morning, perhaps?”

  There was no need to rush these things, Nicholas thought. May of eighteen-sixty-three would be soon enough. “Yes, that would be fine,” he said. “About eleven o’clock?”

  “Wonderful.” Walrond clapped Nicholas on the shoulder. “But come, you must let me buy you a drink—not that I’m at all sure she’ll have me, but at least I know she don’t hold me in aversion.”

  Nicholas immediately declined. He was not in the mood to wish his friend luck. He was more in the mood to take a leaf out of Blackstone’s book and carry Joanna off to Scotland before she could even hear Walrond’s offer.

  * * * *

  Dorie stared out the window of the coach as they came into Longtown, which lay on the River Esk, the last place they would be changing horses before the border. A desperate plan had come to her since Blackstone had wickedly and maliciously had Billy arrested.

  The drugged wine was still reposing in a hamper on the floor. Surely even in Scotland no one could be married if she were unconscious ... could she? It was now or never, she realized when Blackstone stepped down out of the coach to arrange for a new team.

  Snatching up the bottle, she eyed it with distaste. All she had to do was drink enough of the na
sty stuff to pass out ... but how much was enough? Suppose she drank too much and killed herself?

  But suppose—here she began to smile—just suppose she didn’t drink any of it? Suppose she just persuaded Blackstone that she had?

  Looking around, she realized immediately that if she poured it out onto the ground outside, either he or the coachman might see it and realize what she had done. On the other hand, the squabs were a dark velvet, so stained and worn that the original color was not easily apparent.

  Quickly tucking the neck of the bottle down the crack between the back and the seat, she tilted it until a sufficient quantity of wine had gurgled out. Then, replacing the cork, she returned the bottle to its place in the hamper. Mere seconds later, Blackstone was climbing back in and slamming the door behind him. The carriage immediately lurched forward.

  The odor of wine was overpowering—something she had not considered. For a moment she felt panic. If he were to discover too soon what she had done, she had no doubt but that he would stick his finger down her throat. Fortunately, when he returned, it was obvious that Blackstone had imbibed deeply of whatever brew the landlord offered, because his breath was almost as strong-smelling as the seat beside her.

  “Well, my dear, do you not wish to look out and admire the River Esk? It is not, unfortunately, the border, but we have less than four miles to go, and then we shall be in Scotland. Are you savoring your last few minutes of freedom? I advise you to do so, because once we are married, I shall keep you on a short leash, and you will soon learn to obey me, no matter what I order you to do.”

  Dorie did not respond. She allowed her eyes to droop down, but he did not appear to notice. She could hardly call his attention to it, although ... Gradually she slumped over sideways on the seat.

  “What the devil?” Blackstone no longer sounded complacent. Shaking her roughly by the shoulder, he demanded, “What the deuce have you done, you wretched brat?”