“Take this,” he told Matthew as he flung the garment across his shoulders. “It will hopefully keep you from getting wetter.”
Matthew thanked him and mounted the horse while Mr. Townsbridge climbed back inside his carriage. Before he closed the door, Matthew hastened to add, “I promise to bring her home safely.”
“See that you do.”
The clipped remark was followed by the slam of the door. Matthew didn’t wait to watch the carriage take off. He just gripped the reins and urged the horse straight into a gallop. Darkness would soon be upon them because of the thick clouds hovering low, and with no hint of the rain letting up any time soon, it became nearly impossible for him to see where he was going.
With water pelting his face likesqualls coming in from the ocean, Matthew raced toward his next destination. Wind swept across the road in angry bursts, whipping his hair and hampering his pace. Making sure he kept to the side where potholes were less likely to occur and his horse less likely to stumble, he tore into the storm until his mount tripped to a halt and whinnied.
Dismounting, Matthew caught sight of the large object obstructing its movements. His heart slowed to a near stop. One of the horse’s legs appeared to have gotten caught between the spokes of a broken off carriage wheel. Crouching, Matthew carefully eased the leg free while cold shivers rippled through him.
“She’s all right,” he quietly told himself. Lost carriage wheels weren’t so odd. One happened upon them occasionally when travelling through the countryside. Rising, he led the horse forward a few paces to test its legs. The stallion tossed its head but seemed to be otherwise fine. Matthew placed one foot back in the stirrup, prepared to mount. And that was when he saw it - the dark irregular shape a bit further ahead.
Unwilling to move toward it, yet knowing he had to, Matthew grabbed the horse by its reins and walked the fifty yards or so to the overturned carriage. Swallowing hard, he forced himself to approach the door. His throat was already closing, his eyes beginning to burn on account of the unmistakable Brunswick insignia staring him in the face.
No.
Tears mingled with the falling rain as he fought the pain squeezing his chest and reached forward, almost blindly pulling the door open so he could check the interior. For nineteen years he’d held them back, trapping them before they managed to fall and turning his back on the grief whenever it tried to confront him.
Gulping for air he searched for the bodies he feared he would find, but the space was empty. A sob of relief shook him and he allowed himself to survey the scene in closer detail. All personal items appeared to have been removed. The horses were missing too, which surely meant they’d been unfastened by the coachman and brought to the nearest inn.
With a renewed sense of urgency, Matthew swung back into the saddle and spurred his horse onward at a gentler pace. He arrived at The Red Rooster after another few miles of riding, swiftly dismounted, and thrust the reins at the young stable boy who came to greet him. With foreboding nipping hard at his heels, he marched into the inn.
She had to be here. She simply had to. Because if she wasn’t...
“I’m looking for the Duchess of Brunswick,” he told the innkeeper in a tremulous tone. “Where is she?”
Chapter Nine
SARAH WAS JUST STEPPINGout of her bath when the shouting began. She glanced at Anna. It sounded as though a lion was on the loose downstairs. She dried off, put on a clean chemise, and was about to let Anna assist her with her stays when a roar, sounding much like a name, gave her pause.
Surely she must have misheard.
Surely her husband would not be here looking for her.
Surely–
