No Violet?Disappointment pierced his heart as surely as the bullet had his leg, shattering his hopes into splinters as sharp and painful as the fragments of bone had been. He had not seen Violet in so long. He’d clung to the memory of her beautiful face these three years past. It was for her that he had fought so hard to come home. For her he had endured the agony of the surgeries that would make him a whole man again.
“Send the escort in,” Theodore heard himself saying, but his voice sounded far away. If only he could see, could verify what was happening. But tearing the bandages away now would only hurt his eyes and decrease the likelihood of their full recovery. Instead, he listened intently as the door closed and then opened again a minute later. Soft footsteps came toward him across the room. They stopped and then a quiet voice spoke.
“Milord, I am Beatrice Worthington, Miss Violet Worthington’s cousin and escort on her journey from London.”
Theodore gave a curt nod. He recalled the letter, stating that a spinster relation would be accompanying Violet. “And where have you escorted my fiancée to, Miss Worthington?”
“Nowhere, Milord. What I mean to say is that it was not my doing. I was with her the entire way until Edinburgh. We had tea there and changed trains, and then I fell into a deep sleep. I cannot know for certain, but I believe she must have put something into my tea to cause me to sleep. I am not usually given to napping, and as the views of the countryside were so riveting, it is not likely I would have—”
“Miss Worthington,whathas happened to my fiancée? Where is she?” Little wonder the woman was a spinster when she prattled on so. No man could be expected to endure that kind of nonsensical company for long. And just howoldwas she to have fallen asleep so easily in the middle of the day?
“I don’t know where she is!” the woman exclaimed, sounding as if she were near to hysterics. “She only left me a note telling me she had gotten off the train and would not be going to Inverness.”
“Off the train? Of her own accord? And you were tricked into sleep, you say?” Fear unfurled in Theodore’s gut, a waving banner that all but proclaimed something terrible had happened. Something nefarious. Even now, this very minute, Violet could be in grave danger. The gunfire started in his head again, and it took everything he had to force it away.
“What did the note say?” he demanded. “Did you recognize the handwriting?”
“I did. It is written in Violet’s hand. I have no reason to believe that it was anyone other than her.”
“What did it say?” he repeated.
A long pregnant pause filled the room. He heard the spinster’s shallow breaths and imagined a grey head bowed in sorrow.
“Miss Worthington,” he tried again, marshaling patience he didn’t feel. “Will you please read the note to me, as you can see that I am presently unable to read it myself?”
More silence met this request. Theodore counted to ten and resisted the urge to reach out to grab the woman’s arm and shake her.Violet may be in danger. Every second counts!
“She said that she was not going to marry you after all.”
Theodore reared back as if she had slapped him. Of course they were to marry. It had been agreed upon. He had her father’s permission. Violet had danced in his arms, laughed with him, even allowed him to kiss her out on the balcony that summer. Her letters were proof as well, even though they had not expressed much affection. That she had taken the time to write to him meant she cared for him at least a little. Didn’t it? “What are her exact words, if you please?”
“Pardon, milord, but I do not please. Trust me when I say her message is best delivered as it has been.”
“I do not trust you. For all I know, you have been involved in some plot to hurt Violet or to keep us apart. Perhaps you are against the institution of marriage and intend her to become a spinster like yourself.”
A sharp intake of breath met this statement, and Theodore felt a niggling of his conscience for lashing out so. But the fact remained that his fiancée was not here, and the woman before him had been entrusted with her care. She was to have seen Violet safely to his home, and Violet was not here, nor were her whereabouts even known.What if she is lost somewhere? Alone? Abandoned?
“I would like you to read the letter exactly as it is written,” he insisted. “Word for word.”
“Please, milord. I cannot. I—”
“You cannot read? You are uneducated?” He should have arranged for a chaperone himself.
“You misunderstand.” The woman had regained a portion of her timid voice. “It is only that my cousin’s words will do you no good, and I do not wish to add to your pain. Suffice it to say, she is not coming. She is not going to marry you.”
“The letter!” Theodore ground out, hating her pity, hating himself and his present inabilities. “Read it,” he ordered in a low, severe voice.
“I will not, but I shall leave it with your butler. You may ask him—”
“I wishyouto read it, Miss Worthington. You were the one traveling with Violet. I wish to hear the complete tale from you.”
“Please—”
“Or is there no letter at all? Have you made this entire story up to somehow benefit yourself?”
“No!”
Theodore could not deny the sincerity in her tone, yet neither could he feel any sympathy for her. “I will ask you once more to read the letter you claim to have. If you refuse, I will have you escorted from my house, and you may walk back to Inverness on your own.”
