Chapter Thirty
ThejourneytoLondontook them three long days, but finally, on the eve of the third day, they entered the outskirts. Oliver watched as Emily peered out of the windows at their surroundings, the passing carts and donkeys and street vendors continuing to hawk their wares even into the night. Streetlamps, lit by the watchmen, illuminated the streets.
He tried to imagine what it might look like to an outsider who had never seen the capital before. To him, this time of night, it seemed remarkably quiet, but to her, it was probably bustling. Her face betrayed very little, however.
“Somewhere in here is Isabella,” she said quietly.
“Almost certainly in his lodgings.” Oliver injected as much optimism into his voice as possible. “There’s nowhere else he’d have taken her. Of course, St James’s isn’t the best place for a lady, but once we get her out, no one will be any the wiser.”
“If she ever enters London again, Marlbury will do his best to discredit her.” Emily brought her feet up onto the seat, huggingher legs. The movement of the carriage rocked her side to side. “She’ll never be free of him.”
“That’s if Marlbury is around to say anything at all.”
Emily frowned, glancing at Oliver. “Are you planning on killing him?”
“God no,” he said, trying not to laugh at her. “That’s not the sort of justice I’m in the habit of doling out, darling. But his father has, by all accounts, been openly debating sending him to the continent for an extended period.”
“Why?”
“Because he has been causing too much of a ruckus here. From what I understand, he’s got a few maids with child, and they’ve had to be sent to the country to recuperate. If Marlbury had his way, he would have abandoned the girls, but because they’re part of his father’s household, his father forced him to fork out for them.” Oliver shrugged, embarrassed that he had overlooked this behaviour. There had been rumours, of course, but Marlbury had portrayed the girls as grasping, eager for a taste of his wealth, thinking they could somehow charm him into marriage, and Oliver had believed him.
He hadn’t wanted to investigate further. Letting the issue lie had been easier, and now Oliver was ashamed of his complicity.
That ended now.
“If he’s on the continent, that won’t change anything,” Emily said. “Or teach him to behave properly.”
“Perhaps not. But itwillget him out of England, which you must admit is ideal for our situation. I doubt he’ll even know when Isabella enters London again as a debutante, and there’s very little he can do to ruin her reputation from afar.”
Emily leant back against the seat. “You must be wondering why I’m going to all this trouble for such a girl.”
“She’s your sister,” Oliver said, recalling the same words Emily had given to him what felt like long ago. “And you love her.”
“I know she wouldn’t go out of her way for me,” Emily said, and Oliver could only thank his lucky stars that she had at least come to realise this. “But that’s not really the point. I refuse to base my behaviour on hers. If she’s in trouble, I will help, because she’s my sister and that’s who I am.”
“Then you must know that I’ll support you,” Oliver said.
“Even if you don’t agree with me?”
“Helping her is one thing. Sacrificing your own happiness for her sake is entirely another.”
Her cheek curved as one corner of her mouth tilted up. “I have no intention of doing that, Oliver.”
Hope erupted in his chest, and he forced it away again. Once this was over, he would then think about his future. Until then, he would focus on Marlbury and rescuing Isabella.
“It might be safer for your reputation to stay in the carriage while I go inside and confront him,” he said as they approached St James’s Street.
“If you think I’m going to remain inside while you have all the satisfaction of rescuing my sister, you are mistaken.” Emily withdrew the pistol from within her cloak. “Besides, I came prepared.”
Oliver almost laughed. That was his Emily, and he adored her more than he could say. “One should never confront a rake without a gun.”
“That was my theory, too. It went excellently the first time.”
This time, he really did laugh. “Ought I be thankful you didn’t shoot?”
“Extremely.”
“This is a poor moment to tell you this for the first time, but I love you.”
