“No,” he said, firmly. “No. She has run away before and I have always followed. What if she finds herself in trouble? She may not be my wife, legally, but I still have a responsibility to take care of her… to protect her.”
Lady Rennington smiled. “You are a stubborn man, Ian Farramont.”
“I am. Unlike Lord Rennington, I am not content to sit at home and hope for the best. He gave me a message for you, ma’am — he said he would be happy…veryhappy to have you home again.”
“I have made my choice,” Lady Rennington said sharply. “Perhaps Izzy has made hers, too.”
“I do not see that she has a choice to make,” Ian said doggedly. “She cannot live with a man as his wife for fiveyears and have two children, yet be legally unmarried. She must marry me again, and soon, before her reputation is irreparably damaged. When I catch up with her, I shall make sure she understands that.”
***
The business of following Izzy was not an easy one, as Ian soon discovered. Lady Rennington was right, in that Izzy had deliberately made it difficult. She had left behind her very distinctive carriage with its coat of arms on the door, and also her liveried footman. He quickly found that she had left behind her name, too, for no one had seen or heard of Lady Farramont in Sunderland. The miniature did the trick, however, and at the third hotel he tried, Izzy’s face was recognised.
“Ah, Mrs Horncastle, yes. Stayed for two nights. A very gracious lady,” said the manager, his gaunt face softening into a hint of a smile.
Ian took that as meaning that Izzy had left generous vails. He was glad now that he had given her an extra two hundred pounds for her journey, for at least she would be able to travel in comfort. Next there was the tedium of finding the posting inn where she had hired a post chaise for the next part of her journey, and waiting for the postilion to return from a trip to tell him which way she had gone.
In this manner, he slowly made his way south down the coast, passing through Hartlepool, Whitby, Scarborough and Bridlington, with every day falling further behind Izzy. Scarborough boosted his hopes somewhat, for she and her friends had stayed for three nights, and so he gained on them a little.
The dapper little man who ran the large hotel where they had stayed remembered Izzy well.
“Oh, yes, Mrs Horncastle! Such a charming lady, and so tragic to be widowed at such an early age. You are her… cousin, I think you said?”
“I am,” Ian said without hesitation. He had long since lost his reluctance to lie, for he could hardly tell the truth about Izzy’s situation to every passing ostler or hotel employee. All that mattered was to find her. So he went on, “A family crisis… her father is on his deathbed, and… Mrs Horncastle must return home immediately.”
“Of course, of course. If she returns here, I’ll tell her so at once. Father on his deathbed… return home.”
“May I see your register? Just to check the precise dates, you understand.”
“Of course, my lord. Happy to oblige, my lord.”
He read the inscriptions,‘Mrs I Horncastle’in Izzy’s flamboyant hand,‘Mrs M Hearle’in a smaller, neater hand, and‘Mr O Bayton’in a man’s hand. Bayton… he had a vague memory of someone called Bayton. He wrote the names and dates in his notebook.
The hotel manager beamed at him. “Mrs Horncastle and her friend were out and about each day, enjoying the beauties of Scarborough.”
“Oh? Which beauties in particular?”
“They visited the ruined castle one day, and the public gardens on another. And walked beside the sea, naturally, for who wouldn’t enjoy the healthful air here? Although Mrs Horncastle were afraid for her complexion, so she went about veiled when she were out.”
Veiled? That did not sound like Izzy, but then she might well have acquaintances in Scarborough, and did not want to be recognised. He noticed that there was no mention of her visiting any public places where her own class might congregate, such as the assembly rooms, the shops or the theatre.
He dispensed the usual sum for the man’s cooperation. He had brought a good amount of money with him to defray his travel costs, but if Izzy were inclined to jaunter all over England, he would eventually be brought to a standstill. But then, so would she. Sooner or later she would have to obtain more funds, and that could only be in London, Nottingham or York, to call at one of the banks where he had accounts, or else one of the family homes. He had made provision for that, if she should try it.
She could not run from him indefinitely.
From Scarborough, the trail led him to Bridlington, more than a week after Izzy, but for once the postilion for her next stage was easy to find.
“Aye, milord, I mind her well enough,” he said, when shown the miniature. “She went west.”
“West? Inland, then. Following the York road, I presume.” That would be a promising sign!
“Aye, as far as Driffield, then south again, far as t’White Horse on t’Beverley road, milord.”
Beverley! Ian no longer needed to find a postilion to discover her route, for he knew all too well where she was bound. For the first time, fear clutched at him. This was no casual excursion, an amusing interlude before settling back into marriage and motherhood.
This was a catastrophe.
When Ian retired to bed that night, he took out of his waistcoat pockets three items — his watch, his miniature of Izzy and her silk scarf, so carelessly left behind at Corland. The watch and miniature he set on the chair that served as a bedside table, then lay down, the scarf pressed to his face. Already her scent was fading, as if she were gradually drifting further away from him. In another two or three weeks all trace of her would be gone.
