“Mr. Jarvis followed you. He thought you’d lead him to Lady Lucinda, and I’m afraid he was right.”
Ciaran froze. It was a far cleverer plan than he would have thought Jarvis capable of. Lucy had warned him Jarvis was dim enough in general, but had an uncanny ability to secure his own interests.
The best way for Jarvis to save his skin was to marry Lucy to Lord Godfrey. Ciaran had assumed Godfrey would beg off the marriage when he discovered Lucy had placed herself under Ciaran’s protection, but he’d never known a more avaricious man than Godfrey. Wasn’t there a chance he’d made up his mind to overlook it to gain Lucy’s fortune?
Even now, Jarvis could be delivering Lucy into Godfrey’s hands.
A fear unlike any he’d ever known before lodged in Ciaran’s throat. For one awful moment he couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. “Do you know where Jarvis has gone?”
“Yes, sir. He went to Kent. He said he’d forgotten he had business in Maidstone.”
“Maidstone?” Ciaran turned to Eloisa and Mrs. Jarvis, but they looked as baffled as he was. What kind of business could Jarvis have in Maidstone? Of course, he could have lied to the butler, or the butler could be lying to them, but Ciaran’s instincts told him the man was telling the truth.
If Jarvis was traveling into Kent, he could be headed for Dover as easily as Maidstone, but it seemed unlikely, given he’d left his wife and daughter behind. If he wasn’t fleeing to the Continent via Dover, then he must have some other reason for heading south to Maidstone.
“Mr. Ramsey.” Ciaran felt a slight tug on his coat sleeve and looked down to find Mrs. Jarvis at his elbow, her face gray. “Please, I—I’m worried about Lucinda. Lord Godfrey was here this morning, and he…my husband sent for Lucinda to wait on him, but she wasn’t…Lord Godfrey got angry, and my husband was even angrier, and I’m afraid he’ll take it out on Lucinda.”
Ciaran couldn’t make much sense of this incoherent ramble, but he took Mrs. Jarvis’s hand and patted it. “I won’t let your husband hurt Lucy. I promise you, Mrs. Jarvis.”
“You mustn’t let him take her!” Mrs. Jarvis managed, before she burst into tears.
“Please, Sebastian.” Eloisa clutched at Vale’s coat. “You must go after them! There’s no telling what my father will do if he—”
“No.” Ciaran met Vale’s gaze. “Take Mrs. and Miss Jarvis to Hanover Square, Vale, and stay there with them. I’ll go after Lucy.”
A horse—it would be faster than a carriage. Jarvis had more than two hours start on him, but if he rode hard, he’d catch them. He had to.
Because if he didn’t…if he didn’t…
Ciaran refused to acknowledge the possibility, even to himself. He wouldn’t even think it. He’d go after her, and he’d find her.
As far as direction, he had precious little to go on, but he’d take the butler at his word, and head for Maidstone. Jarvis would have to stop at some point to change horses. A gold coin or two, and whatever innkeeper happened to see them would be pleased to tell Ciaran which direction they’d taken. Someone would have noticed Lucy. She wasn’t the sort of lady you overlooked.
Maidstone, Dover—it didn’t matter. He’d go all the way to the edge of England if he had to, but he’d find Lucy, and he’d get her back.
She washis, and no one, least of all Jarvis, was going to take her away from him.
Chapter Twenty-six
“Unconsciousness suits you, Lucinda. If you were even a fraction as obedient when you’re awake, you wouldn’t be in your current predicament. Alas, I’m afraid it’s too late now.”
Lucy flinched away from her uncle’s cruel words, the hot drift of his breath. Her mouth was as dry as dust. She tried to swallow, but a starburst of pain exploded in her throat, and a faint moan escaped from between her bruised lips.
“You’re a bit heavy-headed, I expect.” Uncle Jarvis drew back, the carriage seat giving a protesting squeak as he settled his bulk against it. “It’s a pity, but it won’t be much longer now. We’re almost there.”
Almost there.
Where? She’d tried to stay awake, to keep track of her surroundings, but the panic and exhaustion had caught up to her. How long had they been traveling? Judging by the way her body ached, it must be hours.
Lucy cracked an eye open. The inside of the carriage was dim, the view outside the window shrouded in dusk. Hours, yes. It had been late afternoon when they’d changed horses in Rochester. She tried to pull together a coherent guess as to their final destination, but she kept losing the threads of logic in the cotton wool inside her head.
“It might comfort you to know, Lucinda, that you made all this much easier than I imagined it would be.” Uncle Jarvis’s grating voice scraped at the inside of her skull.
Lucy peeled the other eye open and struggled upright against the squabs. Her uncle was seated across from her, one foot balanced negligently on his knee, an arm thrown across the back of the seat.
A picture of casual ease.
It was terrifying. More so even than the dark isolation into which he’d brought her. Uncle Jarvis was never at ease unless he was very certain whatever scheme he had in hand was sure to succeed.
