The Daring Miss Darcy (Lost Ladies of London #4)(56)

There was no sign of Mr Hungerford or Estelle.

Another man, with a thick neck and flat nose, appeared from a small wooden building to Vane’s left. He scanned Vane’s attire as he approached. “Can I help you, sir? I’m Drummond, the proprietor. Do you need a horse or a bounder?”

“Neither. I’m looking for someone,” Vane said, his tone conveying his impatience. “A gentleman by the name of Hungerford, and I believe he hired a coach to take him and his … his passenger to Bath.” It would not do to assume anything at this point. “Are they here, or have they left the yard?”

Perhaps sensing a dangerous undertone in Vane’s voice, Mr Drummond jerked his head to a coachman. The burly fellow sauntered over to stand behind his employer.

“I’m afraid it’s bad business to discuss a client’s plans with a stranger. Now either you want to hire a coach or you don’t.”

No doubt he preferred to sell the information. The man had already taken two sovereigns from Mr Joseph and could quit with his holier than though attitude.

Vane gritted his teeth, flexed his fingers and stared down his nose. “You will tell me what I want to know. And you will tell me now.”

The coachman made a point of firming his grip on the whip.

“Gentleman or not,” Drummond said assessing the quality of Vane’s clothes once more. “My livelihood depends on discretion.”

“Has Hungerford left the premises?” Vane reiterated. Wrestling with these men might relieve some of his frustration. “I would like to speak to him that is all.”

“You say that, but you look like you want to tear the man’s head from his shoulders. You’re not the first to ask after him. It’s one thing giving out information in exchange for coin. But I’ll not have men brawling in the yard. All it takes is one kick from a skittish horse and I’ll have my licence revoked.”

So, Hungerford was on the premises. Why else would Drummond be concerned with men brawling?

Vane glanced at the line of parked carriages. The stable hands were busy checking the buckles on the bridles. Only one vehicle looked ready to depart and the time was quickly approaching three o’clock.

“Perhaps I do want to hire a coach,” Vane said more calmly. “How long will it take to ready the horses?”

Drummond eyed him suspiciously. “That depends on how much you’re willing to pay.”

Vane retrieved a calling card from his coat pocket and thrust it at Drummond. “I’ll pay whatever it takes.”

Mr Drummond took one look at the embossed crest and his eyes grew wide. He gave a toothless grin and gestured to the door of the wooden building. “Follow me into the office, my lord, and we can discuss the terms.”

Presuming the threat had diminished, the coachman ambled back to his associate. Vane waited for Drummond to lead the way and followed him for a few steps before turning abruptly and taking flight.

Vane darted towards the carriages, dodged men and horses, went skidding on straw-covered manure.

“My lord,” Drummond called out.

A coachman tried to block his path but Vane was agile enough to duck and swerve past him. Wrapping his fingers around the handle of the carriage door, Vane yanked it open.

Two people lounged back in the seat.

A knot formed in Vane’s stomach.

Anger burst to life in his chest.

Hungerford had his arm draped around Estelle’s neck. Her eyes were closed as she rested her head on his shoulder. The intimacy of the moment caused bile to burn in Vane’s throat. He felt nauseous, sick to his stomach, and so bloody enraged he was liable to end up in Newgate before the day was out.

“What’s the meaning of this?” the fop said. “Can you not see that this coach is occupied?” It took a few seconds for recognition to dawn. Hungerford’s mouth fell open and an odd whimper escaped. “Lord Trevane.” Gulping, he added, “Wh-what do you want?”

“What do I want?” Vane repeated incredulously. He wanted to knock the man’s teeth down his throat. He wanted to shake Estelle and demand to know how the hell she could kiss him while carrying on with this craven dandy.

“You lost,” Hungerford said, managing to find courage from somewhere. “Miss Brown is coming away with me. She decided she would rather be a wife than a mistress.”

Vane was about to reply when Drummond caught up with him.

“My lord, what’s this about? Step away and let’s talk about it inside, away from prying eyes.”

Vane glanced back over his shoulder to find at least ten men rooted to the spot, watching and waiting. “Go away, Drummond. I have business with Mr Hungerford.”

“You have no business with me, my lord.” Hungerford flapped his hand as a king did when he’d had enough of being pestered by peasants. “Mr Drummond, please remove his lordship so we may be on our way.”

Vane grabbed hold of the door. “I’m not leaving until I have spoken to Miss Brown.”

“As you can see, she is resting.”

Drummond sidled up to Vane. “If you’ve got a gripe with the man, you’ll have to take it up with him elsewhere, or I’ll be forced to call for a constable.”

“Call the damn constable. Rouse the cavalry for all I care.” No one could hurt him now. “I’m not leaving without an explanation.” He could not foresee living another eight years wondering what the hell had gone wrong. Didn’t the Erstwhiles deserve an explanation, too?