Behind the Rake's Wicked Wager(43)

‘Miss Prentess, a minute of your time, I beg you!’

She peered through the gloom.

‘Mr Warwick? What in heaven’s name is the meaning of this?’

‘I must speak to you.’

The young man gazed at her. His hair was dishevelled and there was a wild look in his eyes, but when the butler tried to hustle him out of the door she put out her hand to stop him.

‘Wait, Gatley. Let him speak.’

‘I called earlier, but you were out.’

‘Aye, that he did, miss,’ averred the butler, panting slightly. ‘About eight o’clock.’

‘Goodness, and you have been waiting outside ever since?’

‘Yes.’ He raked his hand through his hair. ‘I have been walking up and down, waiting for you to return. You are my last hope.’

Mrs Wilby tutted loudly. ‘I hardly think this is the time—’

‘Hush, Aunt.’

Susannah regarded her visitor with some concern. With his crumpled neckcloth and haggard eyes he looked more like a ragged schoolboy than the fashionable gentleman she had welcomed into her drawing room on countless occasions.

‘Come along into the morning room, Mr Warwick. We will talk there.’ She observed the shocked faces around her. ‘You must come, too, Aunt, and Gatley shall remain in the hall, where we may call him if necessary.’

She handed her cloak to the goggling footman and ushered her unexpected guest into the morning room. He allowed himself to be pushed down gently into a chair and once Susannah had made sure that the door was closed and Aunt Maude was comfortably seated, she took a seat opposite Mr Warwick and asked him the reason for his visit.

Immediately he jumped up and began to stride about the room, wringing his hands together. She waited patiently. At last he stopped and turned to her.

‘Miss Prentess. I want to see Miss Anstruther!’

Aunt Maude gave a little gasp, but Susannah said merely, ‘Go on.’

‘I have treated her abominably.’ He began to pace the room. ‘I cannot eat, cannot sleep—I cannot forget her. She has been on my conscience ever since I knew—’ He broke off and returned to his chair, burying his face in his hands.

‘I have been to Shropshire, to visit her parents, but they told me they have no idea where she is.’ He pushed his fist against his mouth. ‘They abandoned her. She might be dying in a gutter for all they know! How could they be so cruel?’

‘And what of your own actions, sir?’ Susannah demanded, her voice icy. ‘Do you hold yourself blameless in all this?’

‘No, no, not at all! When she told me, I w-was frightened, I refused to acknowledge that the child was mine. I thought Mr Anstruther would call me out, that I should be disgraced.’

‘As you deserved to be,’ put in Aunt Maude, with uncharacteristic severity.

He turned to look at her.

‘I know, ma’am. I am well aware of that. It took me a long time to come to my senses, to realise that I had to present myself to her parents, to own up to my actions and ask for Violet’s hand in marriage. But then, when I arrived at the house and was told she was not there—’

‘So why do you come to me, Mr Warwick?’

‘I have scoured the city, I called at Walcot Street, but they denied all knowledge of Miss Anstruther. Your charity is my last hope. I have no idea where the house may be, but I remember hearing that it is a refuge for young ladies such as Violet. So I came here, hoping, praying, that she might be one of the lucky ones.’ His wild, frightened eyes fixed themselves upon Susannah. ‘Tell me if she is there, Miss Prentess.’

Susannah watched him. There was no doubt of his distress.

‘And if she should be under my care,’ she said slowly, ‘what do you intend by her?’

‘To throw myself at her feet, to beg her forgiveness and to make amends. I want to marry her, Miss Prentess, if she will have me. If not, I want to support her and my child. I must make some reparation for what I have done.’

Mrs Wilby sat forwards, saying gently, ‘That is all very well, Mr Warwick, but we would need to ascertain the young lady’s wishes in this case.’

‘But that is not the end of it.’ Mr Warwick was on his feet again. ‘William Farthing told me that his mother had written to Mrs Anstruther, suggesting Violet might be at Florence House. He said his mother had received a reply this morning. Mr Anstruther is even now on his way to Bath, intent upon taking his daughter back to Shropshire with him. You do not know him, Miss Prentess. He is a cruel man, he will incarcerate her and force her to give up the child, if it is allowed to live. And Violet is under age—he is still her legal guardian.’

‘Well goodness gracious me!’

Susannah paid little heed to her aunt’s exclamation. She was thinking quickly.

‘Very well, Mr Warwick. Can you have a travelling carriage here first thing tomorrow morning? I will take you to Florence House to see Violet. If she is agreeable, then my maid shall accompany you both to Gretna Green. However, the decision must be Violet’s. If she does not want to go with you then I will find somewhere to hide her.’

Mrs Wilby gave a little shriek.

‘But, Susannah, if her father should bring the law down upon us...’

Susannah shrugged. ‘We will deal with that problem if and when it arises.’ She rose. ‘I suggest you go home now, Mr Warwick, and get some sleep.’

He came up and clasped her hand, kissing it fervently.

‘Thank you, ma’am, thank you. I shall be here at eight, without fail!’





Chapter Sixteen

The sun streaming through the curtains roused Jasper. He looked at his watch. It was very early, but he knew he would not sleep again. Today he was going to ask Susannah Prentess to marry him. There had been no reply from Royal Crescent, and he was sure that if Susannah was going to refuse him she would have replied immediately. He got up, calling for Peters to bring hot water. He would shave now and get dressed. Not in the clothes he planned to wear for his visit to Royal Crescent, but the plain dark riding coat and buckskins that he could walk out in, to pass the hours until he could see Susannah. He strode out of the town and up on to Beechen Cliff. The wind was warm, a promise of the summer to come. Jasper smiled to himself. A good omen, perhaps? A sign that the gods were smiling upon him. He heard the distant chiming of a bell on the breeze as he headed back towards York House. As long as there was no note waiting for him, he would call on Susannah at ten o’clock. There was plenty of time for a leisurely breakfast and to change into his morning coat and knee breeches before setting off for the most momentous meeting of his life.

‘Peters, Peters! Where the devil are you?’ He strode through the rooms, frowning. Then he heard the scurry of footsteps behind him.

‘My lord, thank heaven you are back!’ Peters ran in, one hand on his chest which was heaving alarmingly as he gasped out his explanation. ‘I was out collecting your best shirt from the laundrywoman. Knew you would want to wear it this morning. I was about to cross Gay Street when a travelling carriage comes down the road. Naturally I stepped back out of the way, but happened to look up as it went past me, and I saw who was in it.’

‘Well, what of it?’

Jasper looked at him impatiently, he had more important things on his mind. Should he wear his white quilted waistcoat or the oyster satin with the pearl buttons?

‘It was Miss Prentess, my lord. Large as life.’

Jasper forgot about waistcoats.

‘What? Are you quite sure?’

‘Yes, my lord. The carriage was forced to slow to wait for a bullock cart to get out of the way and I had plenty of time to look.’ Peters paused to regain his breath.

‘And is there a note for me from Royal Crescent?’

‘No, my lord. I left word at the desk that any messages were to be brought upstairs immediately.’ The valet added in a colourless voice, ‘She was travelling with young Mr Warwick, my lord.’

His words hit Jasper like cold water. She was running away from him. She knew he intended to make her an offer and she was too afraid to tell him to his face that she could not marry him. So that was it. Over.

Peters was still talking.

‘It was a smart turn-out, my lord, four horses, no expense spared, I’d say, and a couple of trunks strapped to the roof. I’ve got a lad following the carriage to see which way they are heading and to report back. And I sent word to the stable for Morton to bring your curricle round.’

Jasper turned on him with and growl.

‘Dammit, Peters, I have never yet chased after any woman!’

The valet gave him a long stare.

‘This isn’t any woman, my lord. It is Miss Prentess.’

Aye, and she didn’t want to face him. First she had used Gerald Barnabus to protect her. Now Warwick. Devil take it, why should he care?

Only Warwick was not Gerald. Warwick was not a diffident young man who would treat Susannah gently if she refused his advances. Jasper did not know the man well, but if the rumours were anything to go by he was a hot-headed young buck who had already ruined one lady’s reputation.