The Promise Page 9

  ***

  “And to conclude, m’lords, I say to you that a tide of moral authority is rising in this land of ours. We who sit in this Palace of Westminster today have a solemn duty. The time has come. Though we have done perhaps irreparable harm in the past...though the blood of so many stains our hands...it is our duty to put things right. The barbarous iniquity of slavery will be washed away, and it is our duty to see that all vestiges of this evil are cleared from our great houses, from our towns, from our ports. We must wash this evil from the very shores of England.”

  As the earl of Stanmore sat down, many of his fellow members of the House of Lords responded with calls of “Here, here!” From others, however, his speech brought only stony looks and silence.

  As the next speaker rose, a page appeared at Stanmore’s elbow.

  “M’lord,” he whispered. “Your presence is urgently desired in the lobby.”

  Pulling his wig from his head, the earl strode quickly from the chamber to where a footman wearing Stanmore’s own livery waited anxiously.

  “I’ve just come up from Solgrave, m’lord.” The footman bowed and handed him a letter. “‘Tis urgent.”

  Glancing quickly over the crabbed handwriting of his Hertfordshire house steward, Stanmore cursed fiercely before storming from the palace, the footman in tow.

  ***

  The last golden vestiges of afternoon sun were just fading as the two serving men carried branches of candles into the suite of saloons on the first floor of Lady Mornington’s palatial home. On a brass perch in one room, a brilliantly colored macaw shuffled along the bar and crooned noisily at the closest servant.

  The saloons were still quite busy, and voices and laughter filled the air. Two dozen or so ladies remained, many plying their skills at the variety of gaming tables their hostess was kind enough to provide. While some were seated around tables, intent upon the cards the faro dealer was turning up, others sat in pairs playing piquet. Still others, finished with their gambling for the day, gathered in small circles or roamed from this group to the next, eager for the latest bits of gossip.

  Louisa Nisdale stood by one of the tall windows that looked out over Grosvenor Square, hardly pretending to listen to the group that had gathered around her. She’d lost another five hundred guineas at piquet this afternoon, and though she knew that she was frowning, she really didn’t care much at this point. As it stood now, she couldn’t request an extension to her credit in Lady Mornington’s establishment without some kind of encouraging news from Stanmore. If she were refused, word would quickly spread and her presence would be unwelcome at every gaming house in London.

  She frowned more deeply as the topic of the conversation caught her attention. If Stanmore’s sudden disinterest in spending time with her weren’t distressing enough, it was obvious that everyone in London seemed to be intimately familiar with the earl’s private affairs. Everyone but her.

  “…and you could be quite correct in that, my dear,” Mrs. Beverley was saying in her annoyingly conspiratorial whisper. “My milliner told me that all of Kensington is simply abuzz with the news. She told me that she has it on the very best authority that fifteen dinner invitations were delivered to his lordship last week alone.”

  “With Elizabeth’s name finally put to rest,” Lizzy Archer chimed in, “it only follows that there should be a mad rush for Lord Stanmore’s attentions.”

  Mrs. Beverley gave a knowing laugh. “To think all those fathers who have suffered so to keep their daughters clear of Stanmore’s path for all these years! Now that they’ve a chance at matrimony, they’re gladly throwing their lambs to the wolf.”

  “If I may say, ladies…the devil take matrimony, for I’ll gladly don sheep’s clothing myself. That wolf can have me whenever and however he chooses.”

  Louisa carefully unclenched her jaws as the laughter rippled through the group. She put on an air of indifference and turned, sending a cutting glance Lizzy Archer’s way. The young woman’s large white bosom, so artfully spilling over the top of her dress, was already heaving at the very possibility of bedding Stanmore…no matter how unlikely the possibility.

  “Why, Louisa!” the diminutive Lizzy gasped with feigned surprise. “I had no idea you had given over your game of piquet. Did your luck run out?”

  “Why, Lizzy!” Louisa said breathlessly in the same counterfeit fashion. “I had no idea you had given over Lord Archer after less than a year of wedded bliss. But you know, my dear, sometimes we are just not lucky enough to recognize what we have. Take, for example, your Archie…not just energetic but talented, too. Why, I was telling him the other night that his technique is quite commendable.”

  With a flourish, Louisa patted the red-cheeked woman on the hand, turning her back on the astonished onlookers before making her way toward her hostess, Lady Mornington. The older lady’s wry smile told Louisa that she had overheard the little discussion.

  “I give you a lot of credit, Louisa, my dear. Your luck may have been out today in cards, but when it comes to protecting what is yours, you have an unnerving ability to break the bank every time. Come and sit with me.”

  Louisa seated herself beside Lady Mornington and cast an impatient eye over the faro table across the room. “What is mine appears to be a subject that is questioned more often than I desire these days.”

  “Then perhaps you should be more persuasive.” Lady Mornington inclined her head toward her young friend. “Perhaps it is time to press your advantage, my dear.”

  “With Stanmore?” Louisa tucked a strand of her powdered hair in place before turning her pouting face away. “One must be very judicious when it comes to pressing his lordship. But believe me, I have devised my strategy…and the cards look quite promising.”

  “Does this strategy perhaps involve a certain close friend of the earl…a certain man of the town?”

  One of Louisa’s finely penciled brows lifted with admiration. “You keep yourself informed.”

  “I do…and I must say that I don’t approve of your plan.” Lady Mornington’s scowl was genuine, deepening Louisa’s surprise. “Sir Nicholas Spencer might play along with your charade, but he would take a bullet in the head before being party to anything that will adversely affect his friend’s well-being.”

  “I assure you that I have Stanmore’s well-being in mind, as well.”

  “Perhaps, Louisa, but do not expect Sir Nicholas to do anything that will compromise his friendship with Stanmore.”

  “What I am considering is completely harmless to all concerned,” Louisa was quick to explain. “Sir Nicholas is as fond of gaming as I am, so it is quite natural for me to cross paths with him when he is in town. Pray, madam, is it so inappropriate that I should strive to remain apprised of Stanmore’s whereabouts and doings? Nicholas is good company, and he freely provides me with such information.”

  The older woman’s gaze swept the room before turning to her. “And have you learned anything of value, my dear, from your association with Sir Nicholas?”

  “Indeed!” Louisa smiled as brightly as she could manage. “I have learned that Stanmore’s absence from my side has purely been the result of his efforts to settle his son.”

  “Were these Nicholas’s words?”

  She fought back embarrassed rush of heat in her face. “Though he has not used those exact words, it is the only logical answer. Stanmore has not been seen in the company of anyone else.”

  Lady Mornington smiled knowingly. “Then I assume that you have already been practicing ways to charm a lad of his age.”

  “You may be certain that I have every intention of forming the warmest of connections with James Samuel Wakefield.” Louisa smiled back at her hostess. “Only a fool would forgo seizing such an opportunity, and you know that I am no fool. You may safely bet on it…I will have Lord Stanmore for my own.”

  CHAPTER 9

  The Chiltern Hills, shrouded in mists, loomed dark and ominous over Solgrave, but the mud-covered rider took no ti
me to spare the ancient ridge even a glance.

  The threatening clouds overhead had more than once made good their threat in the past several hours, deluging the roads from London with cold, stinging rain. The treacherous byways had required the rider’s utmost skill. But now, as Stanmore pushed his exhausted horse ahead, the end was in sight. Racing across the rain soaked meadow, the earl rounded the lake at a gallop, pounded across the stone bridge, and reined up at the front door of the mansion.

  At first glance he could see that the entire estate was in turmoil. Dismounting from his steed, Stanmore strode through the huge doors into the entry hall. Daniel, the house steward of the family’s country seat, dogged his heels, his apologies and explanations tumbling out breathlessly.

  “…and Mrs. Ford discovered Master James was missing first thing in the morning, m’lord. We searched everywhere…we turned the house all akilter…and searched the grounds immediately surrounding…and the stables…you know lads love horses…and the servants’ quarters. I am dreadfully sorry, m’lord. When we could find no sign of the lad, I sent for you.”

  Stanmore discarded his sodden coat and handed it to a footman before heading toward his library in the new wing. “Have you sent someone to Knebworth?”

  “Aye, m’lord. Porson took six men from the stables. They spread out and stopped at every cottage from here to the village. No one has seen the lad.”

  Stanmore stalked into the library and immediately found himself looking at the lake through the large windows of the room. He stopped abruptly, a mysterious tightness gripping his chest. Two years ago, the son of one of the servants had drowned in the lake. They’d found his body a week later by the damn at the old mill. His steward spoke quickly, obviously reading the frown on his face.

  “We...we haven’t started searching the lake, m’lord.”

  An image of a red-haired woman embracing a child on a dock in Bristol immediately came before him. He could see the blue eyes that had looked at him beseechingly, the lad standing beside her in the open window at the inn.

  “Bring Mrs. Ford to me.”

  He turned his back on the steward. As Daniel quickly retreated, Stanmore’s attention again was drawn to the waters of the lake. Two miles in length, the narrow band of water formed a crescent across the estate, ending at the old mill above Knebworth village. Over the years, the deep, clear waters had brought grief to a few families living near it. He watched two of his gardeners hurry down from the house and turn to follow a path along the water’s edge.

  James drowning on his return…no, on his first coming to Solgrave. It was just not possible. Fate would not deal such a cruel hand.

  He saw a half-dozen men emerge from the trees at the far side of the valley, converse for a few moments, and then disappear into the wood again as the rain began to come down in sheets, obscuring even the far side of the lake.

  He cursed himself silently. The devil take him if he hadn’t tried to keep the promise he’d given at the old man’s deathbed. He’d brought the lad back. And that was all that was expected of him. He would do his duty, and the family line and good name would be preserved.

  But now this. Life seemed to hold nothing but twisted luck for him…and for the boy, as well, it seemed.

  The sound of footsteps behind him turned Stanmore around. Daniel stood in the doorway, looking for the world like a gallows bird, and Mrs. Trent stood beside him, wringing her hands.

  “Mrs. Ford is still out there searching, m’lord.” The housekeeper cast a nervous glance at the window and then looked down at her hands.

  “What do you mean, she is out there searching?”

  “I told her to stay put, m’lord,” Daniel mumbled desperately, cutting an accusing look at the portly woman.

  Mrs. Trent shot the steward an answering glare before speaking. “She was beside herself, m’lord. Anyone taking a step out or coming back…and she was rushing after them. She was near mad with worry. There was no holding her back, try as we may!”

  “When was it that she went out?”

  Embarrassment colored the housekeeper’s face. “She set out on foot…a little before noon, m’lord.”

  “That’s hours ago,” Stanmore spat as he started for the door. “Which direction did she go? What does she know about where a boy could get lost around here?”

  “M’lord, she was even wilder than Maire when she’d lost her Johnny two years ago.” The housekeeper nodded toward the rain pelting the windows. “There was no stopping her. ’Twas as if she was missing her own son.”

  “For God’s sakes, how else was she to feel?!”

  Stanmore stalked to the windows, his mind racing. He’d met Rebecca Ford only once, but the woman’s affection for the lad was something that he didn’t think he would ever forget. In fact, there were a few things about the woman that continued to linger in his memory. But this was no time for thoughts of that nature, he thought, scowling. Why, she could be in the damned lake, herself!

  Whirling to face them again, he began barking orders on his way out of the room.

  “Daniel, send someone to the village looking for Mrs. Ford. Mrs. Trent, question whoever attended her this morning. See if they might have mentioned any place that she might have gone to search. Something that might have been said to induce her to set out on foot.”

  Striding down the long servants’ corridors and into the kitchens, Stanmore found himself surrounded by the anxious faces. House servants, grooms, gardeners—everyone not already out on estate grounds—were immediately organized into search parties and quickly dispersed.

  A dry riding coat was waiting for him by the time he reached the front door. A fresh hunter stood prancing on the graveled yard.

  Obviously challenged by the mere glimpse of a dry coat, Zeus himself took a hand in the proceedings. The storm seemed only to worsen, the wind rising as flashes of lightning illuminated the Hertfordshire landscape.

  Stanmore spurred his mount across the lawns and meadow to the path around the lake. One of the upper maids had apparently been stupid enough to mention Maire’s lost boy to Mrs. Ford. She had even told her of the mill and how they’d found him there.

  The wind and rain stung his face as he made his way along the shore, but Stanmore’s mind was focused on finding the lad…and Mrs. Ford.

  Rebecca.

  Even as the woman’s name occurred to him, anger suddenly flooded through his veins. Why he felt any concern for her at all was beyond his understanding. She was the cause of all of this. If he had not allowed himself to be taken in by her pleas, if he had simply stuck to his original plan, the boy would be at Eton even now.

  The foolish, stubborn, meddling woman. He cursed into the wind as he continued on along the lake. As he rode, he continually swept the trees with his gaze for signs of anyone taking shelter there.

  The storm was nearly a gale by the time Stanmore spotted the old mill in the distance. Coming out of a grove of trees, though, he saw her through the pouring rain. The gray-cloaked figure, her back to him, had just fallen on the muddy bank and was struggling to get her feet beneath her. He spurred his horse toward her.

  “Mrs. Ford!” he called out.

  The woman straightened up and turned toward him. The wind whipped the long wet hair across her eyes, and she clawed it out of her face. The dark cloak and the dress beneath it were stained with the mud and rain, and torn from the brambles she had been traipsing through. A look of hope flashed across her muddy face.

  “You’ve found him!”

  Though the mud dragged at her sodden shoes as she started toward him, he could hear the note of relief in her cry. As he reined up beside her, he was struck by the paleness of her face beneath the smudges of dirt.

  “No. They have not found him.”

  The blue eyes fell and her face immediately took on a haunted look. He saw her thin frame waver in the force of the wind, and he leaped to the ground, thinking that she was about to fall. But she turned away from him without another word and began s
logging through the storm toward the dam.

  “Wait!” he ordered abruptly, pulling his horse behind him. “Where do you think you are going?”

  Her gaze was directed ahead toward the dam and the old sluice leading to the mill wheel. She looked like a madwoman.

  “There is nothing you can do that we cannot do better—nowhere that you can search that my people cannot cover more thoroughly than you.”

  She was deaf to his words and did not even look up as a bolt of lightning lit the sky. Stanmore’s horse, however, reared nervously and he turned momentarily to steady the animal.

  “This is madness, woman,” he shouted just as her feet slipped from under her. He cursed under his breath as she slid down the embankment to the edge of the water, and moved as quickly as he could to her aid.

  She wouldn’t accept his outstretched hand as she stubbornly clawed her way up again. Covered now in mud from her head to toe and shivering like a leaf in December, she was perhaps the most pathetic looking creature he’d ever encountered. But nothing about her situation seemed to dampen in the slightest her will to continue on with her search.

  “If this is not the most absurd...” He found himself trailing after her as she continued on without giving him even a look. “Mrs. Ford…Rebecca. Don’t you see that I am losing time chasing after you when there is a graver matter at hand?”

  Again she ignored him, and Stanmore found himself becoming genuinely angry at the mulishness of the woman. Catching up to her, he took hold of her elbow and turned her around.

  “You must return to the house this instant.”

  She pushed the wet hair out of her face and her eyes flashed with fury.

  “Let me be.”

  The words were spoken through clenched teeth, but he paid no heed to her temper. “I cannot. Like it or not, you are my guest at Solgrave. I am responsible for your safety.”