Chapter Twelve
Traveling home toAshmead, Eli couldn’t shake off the downcast mood that had bedeviled him from the moment he’d woken up to see his brother peering at him. He couldn’t think why. He’d always been fond of Rob. He’d been thrilled when Rob had returned to Ashmead as the hero of Waterloo and object of the whole town’s pride.
Eli also thought he should find the trip home more enjoyable than the one to Manchester had been. Wil, enchanted as he was by the sights and sounds of the English countryside on his first foray out of the city, made an entertaining traveling companion. Fanny hadn’t been as sociable as Wil on the way north; she had traveled in tense silence. The weather blessed them this time as well—which it had not on the way north. His unaccustomed mood made no sense.
There were two problems, Eli finally realized, as they passed through Tideswell. Well, three, actually, if he included Wil’s incessant chatter, which had begun to grate on his nerves. First of all, Wil wasn’t Fanny. Silent she may have been, but Eli had found her presence at his side comforting. If he were to be perfectly honest, more than comforting.
Damn it, you miss her. Admit it. He’d hardly had a private moment with her since the rescue. He hadn’t even had a chance to hear from her own lips what had happened, what she’d heard about their intentions, and how she felt about the increased urgency to depart.
That day had been all planning, provisioning, and packing, directed by Rob while Eli had been pushed to the side, urged to rest by all and sundry. Still, he shouldn’t be so downhearted. It wasn’t as if he was in love with the girl. Was it?
The other problem, oddly, was the lack of one, at least the lack of a problem to solve, a puzzle to unravel, a situation to analyze—anything to enable him to keep his mind busy and off the rented coach conveying Fanny, Amy, and their luggage, watched over by Rob and, oddly, Reilly, who had become the latest of a long string of unemployed soldiers to find work in Rob’s household or his security troops.
Eli still hadn’t fully absorbed Rob’s belief that the people who’d taken Fanny might try again if she remained in Manchester. There had been little time to discuss it, particularly because they were at pains to keep the conversation away from the children. Holliday believed it and even endorsed the fear that her Caulfield hair made her a particularly valuable target, or so Eli had been told. The horrifying ring that trafficked in the sale of young girls seemed the stuff of someone’s fevered imagination, but it explained Rob’s urgency to get them packed up and out of the city. And his hiring of an outrider.
Kidnapping wasn’t the sort of problem requiring any of Eli’s skills; damn it anyway. He could only go along with the plan to get Fanny and the ducklings moved as soon as may be. He couldn’t fault the logic, which was why he sped grimly on, determined to simply put miles behind him, Wil at his side, with nothing to do but go over Fanny Hancock’s list of qualities she wanted in a hero—none of which Eli possessed.
They pushed on to the little inn on the other side of Matlock, where Eli stabled Cicero, forcing him to stop to exchange horses. He’d pushed the hack past the beast’s limit as it was. Eli brought his gig to a stop in the stable yard, eyed the sky, and pulled out his watch. At half past four, they had been on the road since dawn. Now late June, there would be hours of daylight left. With a fresh horse, he might make it to Ashmead, but he wouldn’t want to chance it in the dark, not with the boy under his protection. Still, he could bring them within ten miles.
Wil touched his sleeve. “Aren’t we meeting the others here? Sir Robert said he would see me at supper.” Longing in the boy’s eyes was obvious. “He promised to show me how to defend from a knife attack.”
“He can do that in Ashmead,” Eli snapped. “We’re not going to wait around for them to catch up.”
Wil’s crestfallen expression pricked Eli’s conscience but not enough to change his mind. If everyone’s hero worship of the great Sir Robert Benson grated on him, he’d get over it. He’d coped with his older brother since Eli could walk. All that adulation certainly wasn’t the reason he wanted to push on, he told himself.You have work to do, Benson. You’ve been gone long enough. The earlier you arrive tomorrow, the sooner you can get to it.
*
“Where can theybe? They were ahead of us, and the gig is speedy.” Fanny couldn’t stop worrying. She and Amy had been wrapped in the comforts of The Willow and the Rose since shortly after dawn, but now the sun had passed its height above the hills and begun to descend. There was still no sign of Eli and Wil.
“He’ll have put up at an inn for the night,” old Mr. Benson assured her, not for the first time. “The gig isn’t up for overnight travel.”
So Eli had told her before. Rob, on the other hand, had assured her they could push on through the night, well-armed as they were, especially with the extra outrider hired for the journey. They’d changed horses twice but hadn’t stopped. Considering how loaded down they’d been with luggage, she thought it a miracle.
“He’ll be here before long, Miss Hancock. Don’t you worry.” The innkeeper certainly didn’t seem concerned about his younger son. He suggested Amy and Fanny take a walk along the river or make use of the family’s shaded bower by the water while they waited for Eli and Wil.
They did both. Now Fanny sat in the quiet spot next to the Afon, reading to Amy, with no sign of the travelers.
When she finally heard steps coming toward them, her heart leapt. Eli had come at last! But he had not.
Rob stood under the shade of the willows, staring at Fanny with a quizzical expression. Except it wasn’t Rob. The hair and eyes were identical, but this man’s build was slighter, his expression more restrained, for all the resemblance. His tasteful clothing spoke of quality tailoring and fashionable tastes. An air of authority, similar to Rob’s but subtly different, radiated from him.
“You’re not Rob!” Amy piped up, drawing his attention away from her sister.
The formal manner softened. “No, I am not Rob Benson,” he said. “Though you’re not the first person to wonder.” He gazed back at Fanny and inclined his head. “Clarion, at your service, ladies.”
“You’re the earl,” Amy gasped.
“I am indeed. I understand Miss Hancock came looking for me.”
Fanny, bereft of words, dipped a belated curtsey. “My lord,” she murmured. “I am Miss Frances Hancock. This is my sister, Amelia Rundle.”
When he smiled down at Amy, Fanny saw sadness in the green Caulfield eyes. A habitual, deep-seated sort of sadness, she thought. She felt prepared to like this earl.
“We need to speak about your request for assistance, Miss Hancock, but I’ll want to hear what my steward has to say before we see what can be done,” he said. “I understand he has been delayed.”
Clarion was emphatically not a villain. A new title for her book flitted through her head,The Elusive Earl. “Rob—Sir Robert—told us you’d come to the Willow in response to my request. I’m sorry if we pulled you away from weighty matters.”
The sad smile came Fanny’s way. “Parliament has adjourned for the summer. It’s time I came home. My children enjoy the country, and my daughter will be delighted to make Miss Amelia’s acquaintance.”
