What Happened at Midnight(27)

His hands curled in frustration, but he left with the other man.

THERE WAS QUITE A BIT of confusion in the thirty minutes that followed Sir Walter’s exposure, and John’s work was not yet done.

No matter how Sir Walter grimaced and gesticulated, he could not change matters. He’d been exposed on all fronts—and coward that he was, he hadn’t the ability to bluster himself into disagreeing with Lord Northword. Northword sent for a secretary, who arrived very slowly and was told he should write out a note of promise to cover Mary’s wages. They disappeared to a back room to sign the thing.

John took the time to bundle Lady Patsworth and her brother onto horses, sending them on their way before Sir Walter had the chance to stop them.

Thunder rumbled overhead, and the horses rolled their eyes uneasily.

“West Aubry is fifteen minutes on horseback across the fields. You should just make the evening train. Leave the horses at the Wayfarer’s Pigeon.”

Lady Patsworth nodded. “But won’t he know we’re going to West Aubry?”

“Of course he will.” John smiled. “But we’ll be putting the carriage out in the next five minutes. Your husband will think you’re going by road—and that’s a two-hour journey. Let him chase after that. By the time he realizes you’re not there, you’ll be en route to London.”

“Thank you.” She took his hand. “And thank Mary, when you have the chance.”

“Off with you now.” He didn’t bother to watch them go.

It was going to be a hellish ride for them. Thunder rumbled again, and he felt a drop of rain against his cheek. It took another five minutes to get the carriage on the road—and not a moment too soon. No sooner had it turned the bend than Sir Walter raced out into the night.

“Wait!” he called, running after the conveyance. “Stop!”

Of course, it did nothing of the sort. He followed it as long as he could—about twenty yards, before he doubled over, trying to catch his breath. He caught sight of John just as he stood and turned.

“It’s no use,” he sneered. “It might take me half an hour to fetch a horse from my own stables, but I’ll catch them on the road. And then we’ll see about that so-called divorce.”

“Don’t go out, Sir Walter,” John suggested. “It’s beginning to rain.”

“Ha,” was his only reply. The man set his hat on his head and turned to jog back in the direction of his own stables.

John withdrew into the entry. Lord Northword was standing there, watching Sir Walter go.

“A better man, I think, would not be so amused at the futile nature of Sir Walter’s quest,” John said.

“You’re wrong,” Lord Northword said. “I’m old enough to be confident that I’m at least as good as you, and I think it’s damned funny.”

John grinned and then turned around. “Where’s Ma—Miss Chartley?”

“With Lady Northword.”

He nodded, but at that moment Lady Northword came into the entry. “No, she’s not. I thought she was with you.”

A beat of panic entered John’s breast. Sir Walter hadn’t taken her—he knew that; he’d just seen the man. Wherever she was, she was safe.

But Lady Northword was already inquiring of a passing footman, who went to seek news. The man came back. “She left, my lady. Not five minutes past.”

Thunder boomed again. There was no rain—not yet—but there would be. Mary was out there? What was she doing? She would not have returned to Doyle’s Grange and Sir Walter.

“She said, what with the rain coming on, she had better get started to Up Aubry where she could get a room in the Lost Sock.”

They hadn’t talked about what she would do afterward. He’d assumed, what with the kisses—all those kisses—and the walks hand-in-hand, that she was contemplating a future with him. Why would she set off on her own at a time like this?

John looked out the window. A flash of lightning illuminated the valley, briefly capturing a glimpse of high summer grasses, waving furiously in the wind of the oncoming storm.

“You’d better go after her,” Lady Northword said. “Bring her back—Miss Chartley can surely stay here until her future has been settled. If she’s going to walk half an hour to West Aubry, she’ll be soaked.”

“The stables are dry,” Lord Northword added. “Deserted, too, at this time of night. If you wanted to take her somewhere.”

He got a discreet elbow in his side from his lady. “Don’t be inhospitable, darling. She’s very welcome here.”

“I had no such intentions. I have very fond memories of the stab—”

He was interrupted by a less discreet elbow. “Pay no attention to him,” his wife said. “In fact, please forget that he ever spoke.”

The impression John got in that moment was not something he’d ever wanted to think about. Lord and Lady Northword, kissing in the stables? He shook his head to clear it of that image.

“Even if there is somewhere else closer, somewhere dry,” Lady Northword said, “you can be assured that I’ll be willing to say that she spent the night here. Nobody will dare gainsay me.”

Another drop landed on his head. The air was heavy with unspent rain. John nodded, but he scarcely heard their words. It was impossible to dwell on Mary’s reputation. She was out there alone—and soon it would be cold and wet.