“But after five years of marriage to you… she would not… surely she would not run off and marry him… would she? I know she is technically unmarried now but… would she truly do it?”
“With Izzy, one can never predict what she will do, but she was in love with him five years ago, so perhaps she would. The heart is unfathomable, Davenport. People do the strangest things when they are in love. It is a kind of madness, where reason cannot bloom.”
“But would he still want her under these circumstances?”
“Again, one cannot predict. All I can say is that if the cases were reversed, I would certainly want her, so my assumption is that yes, he would. And she is there now, Davenport.” His voice cracked. “I have lost her, I know it.”
“You poor fellow! We all wanted to marry her five years ago, and it was a severe blow to lose her to you, but… Lord, I cannot imagine how hard it must be to be married to her for five years andthento lose her. It must be… no, there are no words for it.”
Ian could only lower his head. Deep inside him, all the desperate fears of the last few weeks rose up to choke him. How would he survive without her? How could he possibly live without her? Her death would be a dark enough grief, but this would be worse, far worse.
Rumble the butler loomed out of the darkness beyond the reach of the guttering candles. “A message for Lord Farramont, sir. The groom has returned from Lochmaben.”
Ian’s head shot up. “So soon? I did not expect a reply this evening.”
“We sent our very best groom on a fast horse, my lord, and Lochmaben sent him back on another,” he said with some pride, holding out a silver salver with a sealed letter on it.
Ian snatched it eagerly and tore it open.
‘My dear Ian, Do not panic. Izzy is safe at Lochmaben, and since she has no carriage here, we have some control over her movements. She has twice called upon the Osborns, once with the duchess and once with me, regular morning calls of no more than half an hour, with Lord Kiltarlity’s mother and sisters present as well as Lord Kiltarlity himself. Izzy has not been alone with him, nor do we intend that she shall be. Nothing was said or done on either side to cause concern. Indeed, he seems rather flummoxed by her presence, and not especially happy to see her. I will let you know at once if there are any developments. Yours optimistically, Caroline Rennington.’
Ian laughed out loud, handing the letter to Davenport to read, and fishing out two gold coins from his purse. “Thank you, Rumble, and please give this to your very best groom, with my sincere thanks.”
“This is indeed good news, my friend,” Davenport said when Rumble had departed in a glow of dignified satisfaction. “She is safe for now, but Lord, what a chase she has led you! She was always a little wild, butexciting.No one could hold a candle to her. That season… you said that love is like a madness, and certainly we were all a little mad that spring. You were the only sensible one of us. Do you remember that ridiculous Venetian breakfast, where it came on to rain? Izzy had gone off somewhere with Osborn and got caught out, stuck in a grotto or temple or some such. Whether they stayed there until the rain stopped or came back soaking wet, there was going tobe a scandal. But you went out in the pouring rain withtwoumbrellas, so that it would look as if you and Osborn both had the idea of rescuing her, and no one would know she was alone with him. That was clever, Farramont. You were always good at picking up the pieces when things went wrong.”
“And I am still doing it,” Ian said with a sigh. “I had to beat some sense into Marsden — that man is extraordinarily clutch-fisted. I never knew a man so reluctant to open his purse. And here I am, helping to tidy up the mess Izzy has left behind again. In fact— What is that?”
From outside the room, a man’s voice, loud and angry, could be heard. “I have to see her — at once, if you please! It is imperative!”
Rumble’s placating voice intervened, but the shouting continued.
“Then you must wake her! There is not a moment to be lost. He must be rescued!”
15: A Small Fracas
The noise outside grew even louder, enough even to rouse the card players from their concentration on the game. They looked round in bemusement.
“Who is that, Davenport?” Foskett said. “A friend of yours? A neighbour?”
“I have no idea,” Davenport said. “Not to worry, Rumble will deal with it.”
But a moment later the door burst open, and a man shot into the saloon, followed by Rumble wringing his hands. “My apologies, sir, my lords. I will fetch— Ah, here is William now. William, help me to get rid of this person.”
Ian could see the confusion between Foskett’s assumption of a gentlemanly friend and Rumble’s description of him as‘this person’. The man was attired in the drab working clothes of a groom, but his voice was unquestionably that of a gentleman.
“Thank you, Rumble,” Davenport said. “Barty, you should know better than this.”
“But, sir—” the man began, but Ian interrupted him.
“You are Barty? Davenport, this man is clearly a gentleman beneath the unkempt appearance, and he accompanied my wife here. I should like to hear what he says.”
“And so should I,” Sir Hannibal said. “If there is a crisis somewhere, we should know of it.”
“If you insist,” Davenport said curtly. “Thank you, Rumble, William. You may go.”
Barty was staring at Ian. “You are Lord Farramont?”
“I am, and I know something of your story. Tell us first who needs to be rescued.”
