“I…” The man stammered as his eyes darted from Seth to the road and back, in a desperate attempt to avoid his eyes. “I do not know. I was in Devon, with you, Your Grace.”
“I’ll be deuced, Bradford. I know that. But you are a servant, you eat in the servants’ hall. You hear them talk. Why did they not alert me?”
The coachman’s eyes focused on Seth, and he shrugged. “They assumed she’d gone to Devon with you.”
“Without letting even her lady’s maid know, without asking a maid to pack?”
The coachman took a deep breath. “There… There was a bit of fiddle-faddle among the servants that perhaps she’d….”
“By Jove, Bradford. What is it? I haven’t all day.” Seth’s patience was running out, and the coachman’s evasiveness vexed him profusely. He knew the servants were keeping secrets, but he wasn’t quite sure why. Or what. “Bradford, if I must, I will call the constable and have every one of you questioned.”
“That will not be necessary, Your Grace. The servants were aware of the argument between yourself and Lady Rose, and there was an assumption that she’d either gone to Devon on her own, via coach to make things right with you, or…”
“Or?” He prompted the man, although much gentler than before. He knew he could be hot-headed and reckless and didn’t want to take his terrible mood out on the poor coachman who wasn’t even present when Rose disappeared.
“Or that she’d perhaps run away to stay with your aunt, as she sometimes does.”
Seth’s shoulders dropped. His aunt Ophelia kept an estate in Kent, and upon discovering Rose not home he, too, assumed she’d gone there. A messenger was at once dispatched and returned with a reply in the negative. His sister wasn’t in Kent. Along with the message came a lengthy letter, disparaging Seth’s guardianship over Rose as though she were a small child, not a young, accomplished lady.
“She is not in Kent. I dare say I would have rather she stayed with Lady Ophelia—which is not a sentence I expected to utter in all of my life.”
The coachman smiled, and for a moment, so did Seth. His dislike of his aunt was well known among the servants—none of whom cared for the harsh, arrogant, prideful woman, either.
“I do not understand how my dear mother was related to such a woman,” he muttered, more to himself than anything else.
“Your mother was a well-loved lady, adored by all.”
He placed his hand on Bradford’s shoulder and gave him a nod. “Thank you, Bradford.” As he sat, the coachman shut the door and tilted his head to one side.
“Home, Your Grace?”
Seth was about to nod when he remembered the letter he carried in his pocket and shook his head.
“No, not yet. First, we must make a stop. St. Giles.”
Bradford’s eyes grew wide, and he swallowed so hard his Adam’s apple bobbed visibly.
“Are you sure, Your Grace?”
“It is daylight, Bradford. We shall be quite safe, and we will not remain long.”
The coachman climbed onto the box seat, and as the carriage set into motion, Seth turned up the collar of his coat. It did nothing to chase the chill from his bones, and no wonder. The weather didn’t cause the shivers that ran down his spine; it was a glorious day after all. No, the ice in his veins had quite another cause.
Fear. For Seth knew one thing for sure. He’d just lied to his coachman, for where they were going, it was never safe. Day or night. But he had no choice—not if he wanted to see his sister again alive.
Chapter 4
“Ido not need Seth Dunn, Mary. No, I certainly do not. Neither do I need Victoria. I am perfectly capable of finding Leo on my own. With Mr. Markham’s assistance, of course,” Winnie proclaimed when she returned home.
Mary, her maid and trusted companion for more than five years, followed her up to her chamber as she recounted the events of the day.
“To think he calls himself my brother’s friend. Can you believe it? Surely, not. You ought to have heard him, Mary, he acted as though I proposed the storming of St. James’ Palace.”
“But why do you suppose that is, Miss Keating? It would benefit him, would it not? Working with you?”
“You and I have more wisdom than a Peer of the Realm, it seems.”
Winnifred glanced at her maid. Mary was ten years her senior, and in many ways looking at her friend made Winnifred somewhat uneasy. At Mary’s age, one was considered a spinster. It was doubtful that she would ever marry, and her future would be the same as her present—a maid for all of her days.
