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Authors: The Runaway Duke
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simple gleaming oval attached to a long gossamer chain that pooled in her palm, tickling it. She stared at it in blank astonishment. What on earth was Papa doing with a piece of woman’s jewelry?
Rebecca ran her thumb along the edge of the locket, and gasped when it sprang open.
Inside was a miniature portrait of a stunning woman, her face alight with the certainty of her own beauty, her intelligence apparent in the imperious, amused cant of her blue eyes and uptilted chin. Her hair, gathered into a complex arrangement of curls, was a lustrous black, and her full rosy mouth turned down a bit at the corners in one of those frowns that seemed more like a smile. A peacock feather arced over the top of her head. Rebecca stared at the portrait, confused and mesmerized, as if she could will it to make sense by simply staring.
She froze at the sound of footsteps in the hallway. The efficient measured clicking of heels on marble belonged to Gilroy, who, no doubt, wanted to check the library for empty brandy glasses and refill her father’s decanter. Rebecca frantically stuffed the pound note and the locket into her pocket, smoothed her damp palms against her apron, squared her shoulders, and moved toward the library exit as casually as her pounding heart and guilty conscience would allow.
“Oh, hello, Miss Rebecca.” Gilroy looked a trifle startled. He threw a swift glance over his shoulder, then lowered his voice to a whisper. “He’s hidden the book, you know.”
“So I
gathered
, Gilroy,” Rebecca said, more crossly than necessary. Belatedly remembering her manners, she nodded briskly, moved past the confused butler, and nearly dashed down the hallway.
Gilroy stared after her. “And here I was hoping Miss Rebecca’s dear self would rub off on that young lordship Edelston, and not t’other way ’round,” he said sadly to himself as he collected the brandy glasses.
Chapter Five
T
he first light of dawn always seems to obscure more than it illuminates,
Connor thought with some satisfaction. On this morning of all mornings, this worked beautifully in his favor. He circled the sturdy gray horse standing between the shafts of the cart and ran his fingers under the leather strap on his back one more time, checking the fit of the harness.
It was serendipity, plain and simple, Connor decided, that Sir Henry Tremaine had decided to combine one of Connor’s routine trips to the village for supplies with a visit to a squire in South Greeley to inspect a mare for sale at a shockingly reasonable sum.
Naturally, Connor had thought this trip was a capital idea.
The rest of his plan lined up in his mind’s eye: a dear friend, a woman, who had gladly done him a favor. A town called Sheep’s Haven, far enough off the coach road to throw any pursuers off their trail. A well-hidden hunting box on an estate that had once been both purgatory and paradise for a young boy. And his aunt, his mother’s sister, who ran a school for girls in Scotland—their final destination.
And then it would be off to his new life in America, the life he had only been postponing here with the Tremaines.
With any luck the connection between his trip to South Greeley and Rebecca’s disappearance would not be made for a day or so if at all, allowing them a precious day of relative anonymity on the road. And Connor would not be expected to return from South Greeley for at least a week. By then, Sir Henry and Lady Tremaine and Lorelei would be in London, for he doubted even a missing daughter would cause Lady Tremaine to postpone Lorelei’s London season.
Harness inspection completed, Connor bent to pick up the lunch basket that Mrs. Hackette, the housekeeper, had packed for him. He moved to the back of the cart and lifted the canvas to tuck the basket in with the sacks of feed already there.
“Don’t move. Don’t speak. Breathe as little as necessary,” he hissed under the canvas, then lowered it again.
The cart heaved and squeaked as
Rebecca ran her thumb along the edge of the locket, and gasped when it sprang open.
Inside was a miniature portrait of a stunning woman, her face alight with the certainty of her own beauty, her intelligence apparent in the imperious, amused cant of her blue eyes and uptilted chin. Her hair, gathered into a complex arrangement of curls, was a lustrous black, and her full rosy mouth turned down a bit at the corners in one of those frowns that seemed more like a smile. A peacock feather arced over the top of her head. Rebecca stared at the portrait, confused and mesmerized, as if she could will it to make sense by simply staring.
She froze at the sound of footsteps in the hallway. The efficient measured clicking of heels on marble belonged to Gilroy, who, no doubt, wanted to check the library for empty brandy glasses and refill her father’s decanter. Rebecca frantically stuffed the pound note and the locket into her pocket, smoothed her damp palms against her apron, squared her shoulders, and moved toward the library exit as casually as her pounding heart and guilty conscience would allow.
“Oh, hello, Miss Rebecca.” Gilroy looked a trifle startled. He threw a swift glance over his shoulder, then lowered his voice to a whisper. “He’s hidden the book, you know.”
“So I
gathered
, Gilroy,” Rebecca said, more crossly than necessary. Belatedly remembering her manners, she nodded briskly, moved past the confused butler, and nearly dashed down the hallway.
Gilroy stared after her. “And here I was hoping Miss Rebecca’s dear self would rub off on that young lordship Edelston, and not t’other way ’round,” he said sadly to himself as he collected the brandy glasses.
Chapter Five
T
he first light of dawn always seems to obscure more than it illuminates,
Connor thought with some satisfaction. On this morning of all mornings, this worked beautifully in his favor. He circled the sturdy gray horse standing between the shafts of the cart and ran his fingers under the leather strap on his back one more time, checking the fit of the harness.
It was serendipity, plain and simple, Connor decided, that Sir Henry Tremaine had decided to combine one of Connor’s routine trips to the village for supplies with a visit to a squire in South Greeley to inspect a mare for sale at a shockingly reasonable sum.
Naturally, Connor had thought this trip was a capital idea.
The rest of his plan lined up in his mind’s eye: a dear friend, a woman, who had gladly done him a favor. A town called Sheep’s Haven, far enough off the coach road to throw any pursuers off their trail. A well-hidden hunting box on an estate that had once been both purgatory and paradise for a young boy. And his aunt, his mother’s sister, who ran a school for girls in Scotland—their final destination.
And then it would be off to his new life in America, the life he had only been postponing here with the Tremaines.
With any luck the connection between his trip to South Greeley and Rebecca’s disappearance would not be made for a day or so if at all, allowing them a precious day of relative anonymity on the road. And Connor would not be expected to return from South Greeley for at least a week. By then, Sir Henry and Lady Tremaine and Lorelei would be in London, for he doubted even a missing daughter would cause Lady Tremaine to postpone Lorelei’s London season.
Harness inspection completed, Connor bent to pick up the lunch basket that Mrs. Hackette, the housekeeper, had packed for him. He moved to the back of the cart and lifted the canvas to tuck the basket in with the sacks of feed already there.
“Don’t move. Don’t speak. Breathe as little as necessary,” he hissed under the canvas, then lowered it again.
The cart heaved and squeaked as
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