Forgotten Fiancée (London Ladies Book 3) Page 7

  “You are welcome,” he said solemnly.

  Looking back and forth between the two of them, Charlotte sniffed and crossed her arms. “It’s only a kite,” she said, making a face.

  For once Miles did not reply, for as he stared at Dianna and saw a shy smile slowly blossom across her face he knew it was much more than that.

  “I cannot stay long,” Charlotte announced, drawing Miles abruptly back into the present. Turning from the window she removed her pelisse and draped it across the back of a chaise lounge before making herself comfortable in an oversized wicker chair. Crossing her legs at the ankle, she looked up to meet his gaze. “But I would like a glass of lemonade. And some scones. Blueberry, if you have them.”

  Miles’ eyebrows rose, but he merely nodded and stepped out of the parlor to find a maid.

  While the household was set to run on a series of bells, he’d never felt comfortable summoning the help by ringing for them when a short walk into the next room accomplished the same exact thing. Discovering a maid dusting in the library, he made his requests and waited until she’d scurried off in the direction of the kitchen before he returned to the parlor.

  “The refreshments should be out… shortly…” Miles froze in the doorway. In the wicker chair Charlotte had fallen fast asleep, her head tilting down into her palm as the faintest of snores passed through her open mouth. He waited for her to wake, but as one minute passed into two and two into five, he realized this was no lighthearted slumber. Not at all certain what one was supposed to do in such a circumstance, he quietly cleared his throat. Unfortunately, the tiny sound had no apparent effect. “Er, Mrs. Graystone…”

  “I thought I told you to dispense with that formality nonsense.” Blinking sleepily, Charlotte lifted her head and promptly rolled her eyes when she saw his expression. “Oh, do not look at me like that. I am not ill, if that is what you are thinking. Nor crazed, though I am sure my husband would beg to disagree. I am in a delicate situation. Pregnant, you fool,” she said in exasperation when Miles continued to stare at her blankly. “I am pregnant. Breeding. In the family way.” Her hand waved in the air. “Et cetera, et cetera.”

  He cleared his throat a second time. “I… see.”

  “I do not know why on earth I am telling you of all people,” she continued, glaring at him as though it were his fault she’d fallen asleep in the parlor, “but now you know. Gavin thinks it is going to be a boy, but I know it is a girl. We are thinking about doing a wager.” She huffed out a breath and sat up a little straighter. “But I did not come here to tell you that.”

  Cautiously stepping further into the room, Miles recovered enough to dryly say, “Yes, thank God you did not tell me you are expecting a child.”

  “Are you trying to be amusing?” Charlotte drummed her fingertips along the armrest and lifted both brows. “You were never amusing before.”

  “You certainly never thought so.” Growing weary of all the words going unsaid, Miles sat heavily onto the edge of a blue sofa situated directly across the parlor from Charlotte’s chair. With only a mahogany coffee table between them, he was able to meet her gaze without hindrance and he did so, green eyes boring into amber. “For once, let us be honest with each other. You never liked me before, and you do not like me now.”

  “I never liked you for Dianna,” Charlotte corrected. “You were far too self-centered. You thought only of your own needs, your own wants. She may have been blind to your faults, but I wasn’t. I saw you for who you were, and even though I was dismayed when you abandoned Dianna on the day of the wedding, I cannot say I was not surprised.”

  “I was not ready to be a husband.” It was as close as Miles had ever come to admitting the truth.

  Charlotte nodded as though he’d just told her something she’d known all along. “You should have said the same to Dianna before you left her. She was devastated, you know. Absolutely and completely devastated.”

  His gut twisted. “I know.”

  “A true gentleman would have stayed,” Charlotte continued mercilessly, “or at the very least given an explanation. You owed her that, if nothing else. Heaven knows why, but she loved you and you tore her apart. We were all she had, you and I. You know how her parents were. How they treated her. And still you left.”

  And still I left, Miles echoed silently. Except he had not only left, he’d stayed away. For four long years he’d avoided the pain and retribution his return would bring, and now he could do nothing but accept Charlotte’s scathing character assassination as his due.

  He ran a hand down his face, fingertips tracing all the grooves and angles before he leaned back and settled his arms along the sloping edge of the sofa. “Why have you come here, Charlotte?” One corner of his mouth lifted in a humorless smile. “Other than to remind me of my shortcomings, that is.”

  She opened her mouth to answer, only to close it when a maid entered and carefully set down a silver serving tray between them.

  “Good afternoon, my lord,” she said, performing a small curtsy. “Would you care for two glasses of lemonade or one?”

  “Two. Thank you, Laura.”

  Miles waited with jaw clenched while the maid filled two crystal glasses with lemonade and carefully stirred a spoonful of sugar into each one. When she was finished she wiped her hands on her apron, curtsied again, and exited the parlor as silently as she’d entered it.

  Charlotte took a long, slow slip of her freshly prepared drink, seeming to savor Miles’ growing impatience. “Oh dear, I am terribly sorry,” she said at last, setting her glass aside with a loud clink. “Have I been making you wait? How rude of me. At least it was only four minutes, instead of four years.”

  “You have spoken your mind,” Miles growled. He was willing to accept Charlotte’s condemnation... to a point. But he had his own temper to contend with, and while he managed to keep a tight rein on it more often than not, he felt his grip beginning to slip. “Now tell me why you came here looking for Dianna.”

  “Very well.” Leaning forward until her elbows touched her knees, she met his gaze and gave a long, slow blink. “She has gone missing. Interesting,” she murmured under her breath when Miles leaped to his feet, nearly upending the coffee table and its contents in the process.

  “Missing? What the bloody hell do you mean, Dianna has gone missing? How does a person go missing with so many people around? Why weren’t you watching her?”

  “Dianna is not a dog,” Charlotte said derisively. “I am her friend, not her keeper. She went for a walk in the gardens with Lord Herring this morning after breakfast. He has since returned, but she has not. I would not worry, but given her abysmal sense of direction…”

  “She could easily become lost,” Miles concluded. A tightness took hold of his chest, making it difficult to draw a deep breath as he imagined Dianna wandering through the fields of Ashburn on her own. While she had made a valiant effort to keep up with him and Charlotte when they were children, she’d never had any natural sense for the outdoors and he doubted her awareness had improved in the past four years. She could easily twist an ankle. Slip and fall into a pond. Be set upon by wild wolves or highwaymen. The possibilities were endless, each one he imagined worse than the last, and as they played through his mind on an endless loop a tinge of red born of fear darkened the edges of his vision.

  “Why did you not tell me this when you first arrived?” he demanded, muscles tensing as he fought the urge to drag Charlotte out of the wicker chair and give her a good, hard shake. How could she sit there so calmly sipping lemonade when Dianna’s life was in danger?

  “Because I have little doubt she will be waiting for me at Ashburn when I return. Knowing Dianna she merely became turned around. I only came here because I thought you might have come across her.” Charlotte’s shoulders rose and fell in a careless shrug that brought Miles’ blood near to boiling. “I see now I was mistaken, but I am glad we had this little chat.” She stood up and gathered her pelisse, folding the garment twice o
ver before tucking it under an arm. “Thank you for the lemonade. I found it a bit tart, although surprisingly refreshing. Now if you will excuse me, I must return to Ashburn before my husband sends out a second search party.”

  Miles followed her out of the parlor and into the foyer. “I will go with you.”

  Pausing with one hand on the doorknob - the butler, no doubt at Lady Radnor’s request, was nowhere to be seen - Charlotte glanced back at him over her shoulder. “No,” she said as her thumb depressed the tiny latch and the door swung outwards, “I think not.”

  The carriage she had arrived in still waited in the middle of the circular drive. As Charlotte walked briskly towards it with Miles one step behind, boots crunching loudly on crushed stone, a scrawny fellow with a thatch of dirty blond hair snapped to attention and leaped down off the driver’s seat to open the door.

  “Missus,” he said, tipping his cap. “Did ye get what ye came for?”

  “I did indeed, Ernie.” Taking his offered hand, Charlotte used it to hoist herself up into the gleaming black carriage. Before Miles could follow her in, however, she leaned forward and shut the door smartly in his face. “I believe I said no.”

  Miles’ teeth grinded together. Fueled by frustration, his palm bounced harmlessly off the side of the carriage in a loud slap that left a perfect imprint of his hand on the glossy finish. “I can help you look for her. Dammit Charlotte, be reasonable!”

  Looking down her nose at him through the open window, she arched a brow. “I think you have helped quite enough, don’t you? Your concern is touching, Radnor, truly. Unfortunately, I fear it has come four years too late. Ernie, if this man” - she pointed at Miles - “attempts to follow us, please shoot him.”

  “Aye,” the driver said, his brown eyes solemn.

  Looking back and forth between the two of them, Miles raked a hand through his dark hair, tousling the ends. Bollocks on this, he thought as he took a step towards the door, only to suddenly freeze when he heard the unmistakable click of a pistol being cocked.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were ye.”

  “And I would listen to him if I were you,” Charlotte said cheerfully from inside the carriage. “He is quite a good shot.”

  The driver grinned, revealing teeth blackened with rot. “That I am,” he agreed.

  Miles did not doubt for a second that Charlotte would take great pleasure in seeing a bullet rip through his flesh. Hands curling into impotent fists of frustration, he took one step back. Were Dianna’s whereabouts not unknown, he would have most likely found the entire situation comical. Here he stood in his own damn driveway with a gun being waved in his face and Charlotte Graystone ordering him about as though she were a queen and he a lowly servant. It was so bloody strange as to be almost surreal. But Dianna’s whereabouts were unknown, and as long as her life was in potential danger he found nothing amusing about his current predicament.

  “I can help,” he repeated. “I know these woods as well as any other and more than most. Dianna needs me.”

  “Dianna needed you,” Charlotte said quietly. “She doesn’t anymore. Ernie, let’s go.”

  Her words hit Miles like a punch to the gut and he watched in silence as Charlotte’s carriage rolled down the drive at a brisk pace, leaving a billowing trail of stone dust in its wake.

  Dianna needed you… She doesn’t anymore.

  The hell with that, he thought grimly. And the hell with Charlotte Graystone if she believed she could keep him from the woman he loved.

  Going to the stables, he ordered his fastest horse saddled, a high spirited chestnut gelding named Blaze for the wide white mark between his eyes. Even before the bridle was completely buckled he’d vaulted into the saddle, and the very second the groom released his hold on the reins Miles spun Blaze in a tight circle and dug in his heels. They exploded into a gallop, kicking up stone and grass as they raced away from the barn.

  Hunching low over Blaze’s neck, Miles took to the fields instead of the road, soaring over a wooden fence without hesitation. The gelding’s mane whipped in the wind as his head bobbed in rhythm with his mighty, ground swallowing stride. Air flew by in a rush, the sound of it drowning out everything else. A slight tug on the rein and Blaze obediently veered off to the left towards a narrow trail that led into the forest. Given the uneven terrain Miles usually avoided galloping through the woods, but today the twisted maze of trees and brambles offered him something the roads did not.

  A direct route to Ashburn.

  Chapter Seven

  When Dianna opened her eyes it was dark and the songbirds were silent.

  With a gasp she scrambled to her feet, fighting a dizzying wave of disorientation before she recalled where she was. She’d wandered far from Ashburn, and fallen asleep beneath the boughs of a willow tree. In the light of day everything had looked familiar, but beneath the inky sky of night with only a sliver of moon peeking out behind a thick wall of clouds she couldn’t tell north from south, let alone home from away.

  Young ladies should not wander by themselves, she scolded herself, especially if they have no idea how to get back to where they started from.

  Aunt Abigail would be frantic with worry. Charlotte as well, for if there were one thing Dianna was known for (aside from being left at the altar) it was her punctuality. She prided herself on always being where she was supposed to be, when she was supposed to be there. It was the mark of a well behaved, responsible lady to have her whereabouts accounted for at all times, and Dianna was nothing if not well behaved and responsible.

  Except for right now.

  Picking up her shawl, she gave it a few hard shakes to remove the bits of grass and leaves clinging to the soft fabric and wrapped it protectively around her trembling shoulders in an attempt to ward off the sharp chill that permeated the air; a chill that hinted more at the winter to come than the summer that had been.

  Biting her bottom lip, she turned in a slow circle, taking a moment to assess her surroundings. She was fairly certain the willow tree had been on her left when she walked towards it this morning, which meant if she kept it on her right she should be able to find the pond, and if she found the pond she could find the manor. It was by no means an excellent plan - or even a very good one - but what other choice did she have? No doubt search parties had already been sent out which, while slightly reassuring, also meant if they hadn’t found her yet they weren’t likely to anytime soon. Having been occupied with thoughts of Miles, she must have wandered further than she thought.

  Tilting her head back she studied the night sky, the nape of her neck tingling with apprehension as she saw a dark mass creeping ominously across the heavens. Were those rain clouds threatening to drown out the stars, or regular clouds? Her lips thinned. How was she to know the difference? Best she pick a direction and start walking. Surely anything was better than staying where she was, waiting for a rescue that might not come until the early hours of dawn.

  Holding her shawl closed with one hand and the hem of her dress in the other, Dianna began to march across the field with single-minded determination, careful to keep the willow tree on her right as she attempted to retrace her steps from earlier in the day.

  “One foot in front of the other,” she muttered in an attempt to bolster her waning confidence. Except for the few times she’d accompanied Miles on his fishing expeditions - which mostly involved her reading a book on the bank while he did the actual fishing - she’d never enjoyed being out in nature beyond a walk in the park or a brief sojourn in a meadow to gather wildflowers.

  She found the vastness of the wild outdoors to quite intimidating and it certainly did not help - then or now - that she’d never been able to tell north from south or east from west. She couldn’t allow herself to think about that right at this moment, however. She needed to remain positive. If she did that, then surely she would be able to find her way home. After all, she’d walked here on her own. How hard could it be to walk herself back?

  “One foot in
front of the other,” she repeated. “One foot in front of the other.”

  Unfortunately, it seemed Mother Nature was not in a very obliging mood. Dianna’s answer to whether the clouds were ominous or innocent was answered before she’d made it halfway across the field when a cold, fat raindrop landed on her shoulder and slid down, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. Another one fell, and then another, until like a bucket being overturned the skies opened and a deluge of icy water came tumbling down from the heavens.

  Within seconds her hair was plastered to her scalp and she was soaked through to the skin. Shrieking - Dianna generally wasn’t one to raise her voice, but if any situation called for a bit of noise, it seemed to be this one - she spun around and returned to the willow as fast as her waterlogged shoes would carry her.

  The leafy branches did not keep out the rain completely, but at least they offered more protection than standing out in the open. Huddling against the trunk, Dianna wrapped her arms around herself and, teeth chattering, body shaking, began to pray desperately for rescue.

  Chapter Eight

  Dianna feared she would soon freeze to death.

  Curled in a tiny ball beneath the willow tree with only her meager shawl for protection, she kept her head buried between her knees and tried in vain to control the chattering of her teeth. Tears mixed with the water falling down her cheeks, for even with her head bowed and covered the rain still managed to find her. It was merciless and seemingly unending, working its way into every crevice, soaking her through to the very bone.

  It was impossible to tell how much time had passed. One minute seemed as long as an hour, one hour as long as an entire day. Twice she’d try to stand, only to quickly discover the only thing worse than being forced to endure a rainstorm of biblical proportions beneath a willow tree was being forced to endure a rainstorm of biblical proportions not beneath a willow tree.