“I dare say we should search for it,” Edwin suggested.
“Not all of us,” Arabella proposed. “As women, we shall search the house for the book, and the men…” She shrugged. “You must seek her.”
“We should search Markham’s properties,” Evan stated methodically. “We know which properties he owns. We shall go there and search, whether we must force our way in or bribe the servants if they are present ought not matter, we must be prepared for anything. If he is there…well, we will handle that accordingly.”
“But which property shall we start with?” Harry asked, glancing around at the men present.
Lord Arlington rose then. “We can divide into pairs, and that will cover three properties already. I am familiar with his country home in Brixton, as my brother owns the property adjacent. I shall go there. Harry, why don’t you accompany me?”
“Good idea, Cecil,” Evan replied. “Myself and Edwin can take care of the townhouse.”
“And Thomas and I…” Eammon paused, uncertain. “I do not know where else he might have taken her.”
“His warehouse at the docks,” Millie offered. “I heard him speak of it at a ball not a fortnight ago.
“A warehouse? It seems too obvious,” Eammon said. “But then, he is not a subtle man.”
“It’s just as likely as any of his homes,” Edwin noted. “In fact, probably even more likely.”
“Should we alert the constables?” Millie asked, glancing around the room.
“No!” everyone exclaimed almost in unison. Arabella turned to Millie, “As a family, we have always handled matters like these without involving the law, when possible. Besides, they may inquire about the book, and if it is discovered, we will not be the only ones in trouble.”
Millie nodded, and Thomas withdrew his hand from her shoulder.
“Very well then, we shall go. Thomas?” Eammon said, and Thomas rose while the others followed suit. As Eammon looked around, he felt a surge of warmth and pride rush through him. This was his family—no matter what blood flowed through his veins. They were a part of him, and he a part of them—and tonight proved that more than any other.
CHAPTER38
Charity
“Let me go,” Charity demanded as she glared up at Markham.
“In due course,” he replied, pacing before her, his footsteps echoing through the warehouse.
Charity was not entirely sure where she had been taken, but the sharp scent of fish mingled with salt in the air told her enough. They were near the docks. Likely in some remote warehouse, far from where cargo was actively loaded or unloaded. If she screamed, none would hear. The fact that Markham appeared unconcerned with her calling for help only confirmed her suspicions.
But hewasconcerned about her escaping. Her wrists were bound with rough rope, tied high to a rusted pipe jutting from the wall behind her.
“Loosen my bindings,” she said. “They hurt.”
“They’re as loose as I’m comfortable with,” he replied curtly. “Now be silent. I must think.”
“Think?” she scoffed. “You should’ve done that before abducting me from my home. This isn’t the wild frontier. I am not some calf to be stolen from a meadow.”
“If you had done what I asked—married me—none of this would have been necessary,” he snapped, spinning around to face her. “This is your fault. Yours and your father’s. I asked him for your hand more than once. He could have done the honorable thing. We could have been wed when he still lived, and he could have taught me everything about the Book of Confidences. But no, he refused me.”
“My father was a wise man,” Charity said, voice trembling with fury. It was likely unwise to antagonize him, but she could not help herself. He had taken her from her home. From Ambrose. Poor Ambrose.
Thank heavens she’d had the presence of mind to untie his lead from the fence before she was taken. At least he could roam freely. Could he make it back to the estate? Would anyone notice? If he did, would anyone understand?
Eammon would. She knew it. Despite their recent arguments, despite their uneasy peace, she had come to believe in his love. He had trusted her with the book—entrusted her with the truth. That counted for something.
She had replayed their last conversation in her mind again and again. She had come to realize that perhaps, had their roles been reversed, she might not have acted differently. How could he have trusted her when they had barely known each other? She had assumed the worst of him, too. In truth, they had both judged too quickly.
She now wished more than ever that their fathers had allowed them to grow up together. Perhaps then they would have known each other. Trusted one another.
“Let me go, Markham,” she said again. “Release me now and I will not tell anyone what you’ve done.”
