‘You don’t know how lucky we were growing up with Malcolm around to patch us up,’ Jennifer interrupted from behind her mother.
‘Of course I do,’ Anthony scoffed. ‘Who do you think gave me this scar on my lip?’ Ignoring his eldest sister’s glare, he pointed to the silvery line barely visible below his bottom lip. ‘I have the dubious honour of being the last of Grace’smishapsprior to Malcolm’s arrival.’
‘I wondered why Father was always the one to carry us up the steps.’ Jennifer grinned at her mother’s outraged scowl. ‘You know we love you, Mama,’ she quipped, leaning forward to kiss her mother’s cheek. ‘But I really think we should wait for Malcolm to get here unless your less than deft touch makes it worse.’
‘Is it gangrenous?’ Agnes moaned. ‘Please tell me it won’t have to be removed.’
‘I don’t think removing my heart is likely to help much, Mother.’ Anthony commented drily, trying hard to bury his fear for George. The banter had succeeded in pushing it back for a while, but now it was back with a vengeance.
‘It’s a good job we sent John with the note when we did,’ Grace declared matter-of-factly, realising her brother was actually close to tears. She laid a piece of gauze over the wound and covered him up with a blanket. ‘I think it’s time for a brandy, Father,’ she added, climbing to her feet.
Reverend Shackleford had never experienced quite such acute terror as he did when he watched them carry his youngest child up the steps. He loved all his daughters, but Anthony… Anthony was the son he never thought he’d have. Everything the Reverend had done since marrying Grace to the Duke of Blackmore was to secure that son’s future.
And right at that moment, watching them lay him down, pale and sweating, he couldn’t help but reflect how little it mattered that Anthony married well, that he was accepted in all the right ballrooms. It was all fustian nonsense.
Swallowing a sudden rush of emotion, he hurried to the cabinet and poured three brandies.
‘Are you well enough to tell us exactly what happened?’ he asked, his voice gruff with suppressed emotion.
Anthony swallowed his brandy in one gulp and closed his eyes against the sudden burn. At length, he gave a sigh and recounted the events of the last twenty-four hours. He left nothing out, including the fact that he fully intended to marry Georgiana when they finally got her back. His mother gave a small moan and tottered a little when he got to the leg shackled bit, but since nobody took any notice, she contented herself with a quick swig ofDr. Brodum’s Botanical Syrup and Restorative Nervous Cordial.
‘So, this Linfield fellow. He didn’t give you any idea why he wanted George so badly?’ the Reverend asked. Anthony shook his head.
‘Do you think he’s connected to the Earl of Ruteledge?’ Jennifer asked.
Anthony gave a shrug. ‘At the end of the day, it doesn’t really matter why he took her. I have to get her back, and that’s all there is to it.’
‘Do you think he’ll harm her?’ Percy asked, speaking for the first time.
Anthony was silent for a second, the anguish clear on his face. Then he shook his head again. ‘Why keep her alive all these years only to kill her now. It doesn’t make sense.’ He winced as he shifted to get comfortable. ‘Somehow I got the impression that he didn’t intend to harm her – at least for the moment.’
‘Do you have any inkling of where he intended to take her?’ Grace probed.
‘The truth is, I have no bloody idea,’ Anthony retorted, running his hand through his hair in frustration.
‘Well, since Percy and I spotted the blackguard in Exeter, it makes sense to start there,’ the Reverend suggested.
‘You saw him?’ Anthony quizzed frowning.
Augustus Shackleford abruptly realised that Anthony hadn’t actually read the note they’d sent to Bovey Manor. The clergyman quickly recounted what had transpired since their last visit to his son’s home.
‘Are you all right, Mama?’ Anthony asked in concern when he heard about his mother’s ordeal. Unfortunately by now, Agnes had partaken of nearly half a bottle ofDr. Brodum’s Botanical Syrup and Restorative Nervous Cordialand was actually feeling a trifle disguised. It was all she could do to sniff into her kerchief and nod her head bravely.
‘What the devil was he doing in the Bishop’s Palace?’ Anthony quizzed. His father shook his head.
‘Deuced odd it was.’ The Reverend paused for a moment, his brow creased in thought. ‘But they definitely knew each other.’
‘Linfield said, “I won’t forget this.”’ Percy remembered. ‘Do you think he might have been paying his Excellency to watch over George?’
‘If that's the case, the Bishop will likely know where we can find the varmint?’ Reverend Shackleford declared excitedly. ‘We just have to convince him to tell us.’
‘He’ll tell us,’ Anthony predicted grimly, attempting to rise.
Grace unceremoniously pushed him back onto the chaise longue, taking care to avoid his wound. ‘There’s no sense in us running off half-cocked,’ she declared. ‘It’s essential you rest, Anthony. I’m certain Nicholas and Malcolm will be back before nightfall. We need to wait for them.’
Anthony gritted his teeth in frustration. He understood his sister’s reasoning and in truth agreed. But he couldn’t afford to delay beyond the end of the day.
‘Whether they have arrived or not,’ he stated, ‘tomorrow, I will be paying a visit to the Bishop’s Palace.’
