Read Online The Countess Confessions by Jillian Hunter - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jillian Hunter
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There’s not a trace that it ever existed.”
If Michael could make an entire tent disappear, he could certainly find a way to hide his sister.
The footman muttered an apology for his abruptness before he excused himself. Damien was no longer paying attention. A rectangular white-edged object with an intriguing design had caught his notice. He placed his boot over the card and waited for Farmer Weltry to look away before picking it up and slipping inside his thickly padded shirt.
Urania had left another calling card—
Mariage
. He shook his head and turned to walk back to the tower to report to Lord Ardbury. She wasn’t going to survive long enough to predict anyone’s wedding if she left a trail like this to follow.
• • •
Emily and Iris knew every bridle path and secret route through the woods, having traversed them with Michael for years. However, neither Emily nor her maid wished to escape without Michael’s company as protection. The dense thicket would serve as a hiding place for only so long.
“I want to go home,” Iris whispered. “I hate the dark. I hate the rustling I just heard behind me. And right now I even hate—”
“Iris, please. We have to wait for Michael.”
“All night?”
“He will not be all night. You know we can depend on Michael.”
“And the Scotsman? He acted as if he knew you, miss. Is he a man to be trusted? How could you have met him and I not hear of it?”
Emily wavered. “I hope we never see him again. From what I can gather, his only valid credentials are that he and Michael are known to each other from their military days.”
“Mr. Rowland is a good judge of character,” Iris said after a moment.
Emily heaved a sigh. “Yes. But I’m not. I made a mortifying misjudgment tonight, and it has brought me nothing but disaster.”
Iris stared at her in sympathy. “It didn’t go well with Mr. Jackson?”
“He’s in love with the new schoolmistress.”
“Her with the face that could curdle mother’s milk?” Iris said in shock.
Emily laughed reluctantly. “I think he might want a woman to take care of him.”
“Well, that would not be you, miss,” Iris said pragmatically. “You can’t even take care of yourself.”
Chapter 11
W hen Damien returned to the tower, he answered Ardbury’s interrogation as dispassionately as he could. “I took refuge in her tent to avoid a guest at the party I did not wish to meet. The fortune-teller had black curly hair held back in a blue headband. Her skin was the color of light tea. She had a basket at her side. And there was some nostrum on the table that she knocked over.”
“She robbed the house?” the journalist asked for the third time.
Damien shrugged. “So I was told. For all I know she may have robbed the guests who came to her tent to have their fortunes told.” He slipped his hand inside his vest. “My watch is still here. She is obviously not a professional.”
“You should have done us a favor and taken her to the brook to make sure she would never remember your face again,” Lord Ardbury said.
“The authorities aren’t going to care about anything except that she robbed the wealthy citizens of the parish,” Damien replied. “It would astonish me if she heard anything incriminating or that she possessed the wherewithal to turn evidence against us.”
He threw Damien a thunderous look. “She overheard enough to have us all dancing in air.”
“One of us needs to go after her,” the major, seated at the table, said. “Angus, you had the closest look. Search for her as you would one of your lost sheep.”
“The rest of us will be on the lookout in the other directions of the compass, in the village outskirts, and away from the party,” Ardbury said. “It can’t be that hard to find two gypsy maidens.”
The journalist laid down his pen. “I have made a sketch based on Angus’s description. Perhaps, Lord Ardbury, you can ask another guest for more details.”
“We
If Michael could make an entire tent disappear, he could certainly find a way to hide his sister.
The footman muttered an apology for his abruptness before he excused himself. Damien was no longer paying attention. A rectangular white-edged object with an intriguing design had caught his notice. He placed his boot over the card and waited for Farmer Weltry to look away before picking it up and slipping inside his thickly padded shirt.
Urania had left another calling card—
Mariage
. He shook his head and turned to walk back to the tower to report to Lord Ardbury. She wasn’t going to survive long enough to predict anyone’s wedding if she left a trail like this to follow.
• • •
Emily and Iris knew every bridle path and secret route through the woods, having traversed them with Michael for years. However, neither Emily nor her maid wished to escape without Michael’s company as protection. The dense thicket would serve as a hiding place for only so long.
“I want to go home,” Iris whispered. “I hate the dark. I hate the rustling I just heard behind me. And right now I even hate—”
“Iris, please. We have to wait for Michael.”
“All night?”
“He will not be all night. You know we can depend on Michael.”
“And the Scotsman? He acted as if he knew you, miss. Is he a man to be trusted? How could you have met him and I not hear of it?”
Emily wavered. “I hope we never see him again. From what I can gather, his only valid credentials are that he and Michael are known to each other from their military days.”
“Mr. Rowland is a good judge of character,” Iris said after a moment.
Emily heaved a sigh. “Yes. But I’m not. I made a mortifying misjudgment tonight, and it has brought me nothing but disaster.”
Iris stared at her in sympathy. “It didn’t go well with Mr. Jackson?”
“He’s in love with the new schoolmistress.”
“Her with the face that could curdle mother’s milk?” Iris said in shock.
Emily laughed reluctantly. “I think he might want a woman to take care of him.”
“Well, that would not be you, miss,” Iris said pragmatically. “You can’t even take care of yourself.”
Chapter 11
W hen Damien returned to the tower, he answered Ardbury’s interrogation as dispassionately as he could. “I took refuge in her tent to avoid a guest at the party I did not wish to meet. The fortune-teller had black curly hair held back in a blue headband. Her skin was the color of light tea. She had a basket at her side. And there was some nostrum on the table that she knocked over.”
“She robbed the house?” the journalist asked for the third time.
Damien shrugged. “So I was told. For all I know she may have robbed the guests who came to her tent to have their fortunes told.” He slipped his hand inside his vest. “My watch is still here. She is obviously not a professional.”
“You should have done us a favor and taken her to the brook to make sure she would never remember your face again,” Lord Ardbury said.
“The authorities aren’t going to care about anything except that she robbed the wealthy citizens of the parish,” Damien replied. “It would astonish me if she heard anything incriminating or that she possessed the wherewithal to turn evidence against us.”
He threw Damien a thunderous look. “She overheard enough to have us all dancing in air.”
“One of us needs to go after her,” the major, seated at the table, said. “Angus, you had the closest look. Search for her as you would one of your lost sheep.”
“The rest of us will be on the lookout in the other directions of the compass, in the village outskirts, and away from the party,” Ardbury said. “It can’t be that hard to find two gypsy maidens.”
The journalist laid down his pen. “I have made a sketch based on Angus’s description. Perhaps, Lord Ardbury, you can ask another guest for more details.”
“We
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