The Viscount’s Vendetta by Kathy L. Wheeler
Thirty-Six
T
he cool air was crisp and perfect. Maeve’s picnic was a smashing success. “Mary, would you pour out more tea, please?”
“Aye, Lady Maeve.” Mary’s face flushed with pleasure. She’d taken the request as the great honor Maeve had intended.
This had been an excellent idea. Even with the staid Baird maintaining strict guard near the carriage and Niall pacing the ground nearby.
Maeve accepted her cup from Mary and looked at Melinda. “I was curious about something, Melinda?”
“Wot, ma’am?”
Maeve took a sip of her tea. “Why did you run from me that afternoon near Trotter’s?” The question had been bothering her for days.
“Oh, I weren’t runnin’ from you, m’lady.” She seemed genuinely distressed. “It were the gentleman.”
“Harlowe? Why on earth would you run from—”
“No, no. Not his lordship. The popinjay—”
The hair on Maeve’s neck raised. “Where’s Penny?”
Melinda squinted off in the distance. “She were looking at the water, ma’am.”
Dear heavens. Maeve hurried to her feet and dashed for the Serpentine. What had she been thinking to set their picnic so temptingly near the water yet not close enough to allow for the water’s curiosity?
Penny was standing at the edge.
“Penny!”
“Look, Lady Maeve, I can sees meself.”
Maeve grabbed her arm and shook her. “Don’t ever frighten me like that again. You could fall in and be dragged down to the bottom.”
Astonishment, then hurt, filled her eyes. “But I was jus’ standin’ here.” She jerked her arm free and ran.
Maeve’s own gaze blurred with tears. She’d handled things all wrong. She knew her fear of drowning was irrational. Niall and Baird had been close enough to help if Penny had needed it. But no one had been able to help Caroline.
She owed the child, not only an apology but, an explanation. She marched after her, determined to make things right. She’d just reached the walk that led out of the park when she spotted a large man holding Penny’s arm. A familiar looking man. “Penny!” Maeve took off in a run.
Footsteps pounded behind her.
Penny fought Mr. Jervis’s grip valiantly, but she was too small. He turned and tossed her in the carriage.
“You bastard,” she screamed. “Let her go.” Maeve threw herself at him, beating him with her fists.
“Stop it, you fool woman.” He shook her with a violence that rattled the brains in her head. Still, she kicked and struck out with every breath in her body. “It ain’t you I want. Take off before anyone’s the wiser.”
“Penny. Jump.”
His fist knocked her silly, but she held fast. He wasn’t taking Penny anywhere. Not without her.
“All right, if that’s the way you want it.” He jerked her away from him, yanked the carriage door open and tossed her in as if she weighed only as much as Penny.
Penny threw herself on Maeve, her tiny arms threatening her airflow. “Oh, ma’am, they hitted Niall. Me thinks he’s dead.” The tears flowed down her cheeks.
The carriage bumped into motion.
“Let me up, dear.” Maeve crawled up onto the seat and peered out the window. Fat lot of good it did. The windows were so grimed up, she barely recognized Hyde Park’s Corner. The carriage didn’t slow even when the door crashed back and Mr. Jervis jumped in.
“Well, don’ this beat all,” he said.
Chaos was in full form when Harlowe located his wife’s picnic. “Where’s Rory?”
Disgust covered Baird’s face. “He went after the carriage. It was old, nothin’ distinguishable about it. A’fore I could stop ’em, Niall took off after the bloke and was knocked on the head. He ain’t in no shape t’ drive the imps back to Cavendish Square. So I was stuck”—he jerked his head in the direction of the two girls—“actin’ as nanny.”
Panic tangibly choked Harlowe. Fear made him dizzy. The urge to beat Baird to a bloody pulp had his hands shaking. His gaze went around the small circle.
Mary’s and Melinda’s hands were entwined tightly together. Niall leaned against the nearest tree, his elbows resting on his knees, holding his head within his palms. Baird’s hands splayed against his hips, obviously furious with himself.
Harlowe breathed deep. “We just need to take a moment to think things through.” Difficult words to say through a voice cloaked in emotion. He went down on one knee before Mary and Melinda. “Start from the beginning. Tell me what happened.”
By the time Mary had related the events with Melinda crying, silent tears streaming down her face, it was clear Harlowe had to get the children home. “We’ll find Penny and Lady Maeve,” he told them, stunning himself with his calmness.
“Baird, help me load up Niall. I’ll go—”
“Beggin’ yer pardon, milord, but where exactly will ye be goin’? No one knows where they went.” Baird’s feet shifted.
“Is there something else, Baird?”
“I did happen to see that feller her ladyship went on the drive with the other day.”
A cold chill went through Harlowe. “Dorset?”
“Yessir.”
“I see. It appears your duties as nanny are still required. Get them home.”
After securing Baird’s horse to the back of the carriage, Harlowe kicked his own mount and cantered, illegally mind, through the park for Dorset’s home near Portman’s Square. It was close to Hyde Park but was in the complete opposite direction of Hyde Park’s Corner. Still, it was the only lead he had at the moment.
Traffic was almost non-existent in the park, and Harlowe was able to make excellent time. Within minutes he was pounding down Dorset’s door.
“But, Lord Harlowe, I don’t know how to make it plainer, Dorset went for a ride and has yet to return.” The butler’s stoic demeanor was beyond maddening.
The smart thing to do would be to await word from Rory at Cavendish Square. “What clubs does he usually frequent this time of day?” he demanded.
The butler’s face flushed under Harlowe’s insistence. “The usual, my lord. White’s and Boodles. On occasion, er, uh, the Widow’s Salon.”
“What is going on?” A young woman appeared at the top of the stairs. One of Dorset’s many sisters, though Harlowe failed to recall which one. That was no surprise for a myriad of reasons. “Have you had word of Sebastian?” she said.
“Sebastian?” Harlowe echoed. The flowers in Maeve’s hall. S. Rhododendrons… Rhododendrons meant danger.
Harlowe sketched a short bow and ran for his horse. Chancé’s Salon was his strongest instinct and his best hope. But the ride to the salon near Haymarket was an extraordinary distance. His best option was the slight detour back through Hyde Park. He flew.
