Lord Dearborn's Destiny (20 page)

Ellie slowly lowered the letter. As quickly, as simply as that, her problems were solved! She could leave for Ireland as early as tomorrow if she chose. There, the rolling emerald hills and deep sapphire loughs would surely mend her broken heart in time.
 

Doubtless Lady Dearborn would consider this letter an omen, a sign that there was nothing more to hope for here in England. She pulled from her pocket the iron ring, made from a horseshoe nail, that the Countess had given her for luck before she left Huntington Park that morning, and burst into tears.
 

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T
HE
PRE
-ball dinner was a lively affair, owing primarily to Lady Dearborn's vivid recounting of the latest Town gossip, which she had received in a letter that morning from Lady Jersey. When that subject was exhausted, she launched into a humourous recital of her cats' antics and soon had most of the table chuckling. The only glum faces belonged to Mrs. Winston-Fitts and the Earl, but it was doubtful that anyone else noticed.

Mrs. Winston-Fitts was feeling very ill used. It was bad enough that the evening of the ball— the ball that was to have been Rosalind's engagement party —had arrived with no hint of an offer from Lord Dearborn. But then she had discovered, only an hour ago, that Elinor had gone back to Warwickshire that morning with never a word to her. She wondered what her niece could be thinking of to leave at such a time, just when Rosalind was likely to have need of her. That she was truly ill, she refused to believe. Such effrontery, too, to borrow Lady Glenhaven's carriage for the journey! If Elinor were here, she would have given her a fine dressing-down on the subjects of etiquette and gratitude.

In her mother's opinion, Rosalind was looking far happier than the circumstances warranted. While she would have liked to believe that her daughter's high spirits were the result of an understanding with Lord Dearborn, one look at the Earl's glowering countenance informed her how unlikely that was. Her one comfort was that with Elinor gone, the friendship she had begun to suspect was developing between her niece and Lord Dearborn would be nipped in the bud, to Rosalind's advantage.

An hour later the ball guests began to arrive, having driven from all corners of the surrounding county and even, in a few cases, from London. As they arrived, each sumptuously clad visitor exclaimed over the changes in the great hall, which had transformed it into a ballroom to rival the finest in Town. Even Mrs. Winston-Fitts forced herself to compliment the Countess on its appearance.

"Why, thank you, ma'am," said Lady Dearborn. "Much of the credit must go to Miss O'Day, however, for she has been of great help in the preparations. What a pity that she cannot be here tonight!" Mrs. Winston-Fitts sourly agreed before wandering off to pour her troubles into her husband's less than sympathetic ear. What was to have been the triumphant climax to the Season was quickly becoming the most unpleasant evening she could remember.

Forrest waited until she had departed before joining his mother near the foot of the stairs. "That woman has a face that would curdle milk," he commented, glancing after her. "Whatever did you say to worsen her mood?"

"I merely mentioned how helpful her niece had been with the decorations," said the Countess limpidly, drawing a chuckle from her son. "That's better. Your own face stood in need of some sweetening, too," Lady Dearborn pointed out. Just then, the orchestra struck up the first dance.

"Perhaps it would mollify Mrs. Winston-Fitts if you led her daughter out for the first set," she suggested.

"You wouldn't wish me to raise her hopes again, would you?" Forrest teased. "At any rate, I saw Miss Winston-Fitts going upstairs a few moments ago."
 

"Perhaps she tore a flounce. You can dance with her later, I suppose. I perceive Miss Childs is without a partner, however."

With a grimace, the Earl went to do his duty as host.
 

The evening passed slowly for Forrest. At his mother's behest he danced every set, but each partner's insipid smiles and boring chatter only served to remind him that she was not Ellie. Again he wondered how he could have been so wilfully blind for so long. No other woman had ever held his interest as she could. Her spirit, her wit, her dauntless courage more than made up for what little she lacked in the way of beauty. What good was a mass of golden hair, after all? It was merely something to fade with age. What Ellie possessed never would. He looked forward eagerly to the moment when he could go freely to Ellie to declare his feelings and ask for her hand.

He wondered again what Sir George was waiting for. He had no doubt that Rosalind would accept the man if he would only offer —any fool could see that she preferred him. With an effort, Forrest suppressed his irritation at the delay. Right now he had to play his part and make certain that no young lady lacked a partner for the next set. Resignedly, he scanned the room, only to see Mrs. Winston-Fitts hurrying towards him.

"My lord!" she cried breathlessly before he could say a word. "Have you seen Rosalind? I cannot find her anywhere!"

Lord Dearborn regarded Mrs. Winston-Fitts with a slight frown, wondering if this might be yet another ruse to get him alone with her daughter. "I cannot recall that I have, ma'am," he answered politely. "No doubt Miss Winston-Fitts is in the supper room or some such place."

"No, my lord, that she is not, for I have looked," replied Mrs. Winston-Fitts indignantly. "I should think you might show more concern for a girl to whom you have paid such marked attentions!"

Forrest sighed. "I have the same concern for your daughter that I would have for any guest residing under my roof, ma'am. No more, no less." He hoped to dash the impertinent woman's pretensions once and for all.

Mrs. Winston-Fitts's chin quivered, but she did not dispute with him. "As host, then, if for no other reason, I pray you will help me to find her. I am most worried."

Examining her more closely, Forrest had to admit she looked it. Thinking back, he realized that he had not danced with Miss Winston-Fitts at all that evening, had not seen her, in fact, since she went upstairs just after dinner. "Very well," he said resignedly. "I shall ask my mother if she has any idea where she might be. Perhaps you should see if your daughter is in her room. She may have taken ill."

"Without telling me?" Mrs. Winston-Fitts was obviously affronted at the thought. "My niece may be capable of that sort of thoughtlessness, my lord, but not my daughter. And if she
is
ill, you may be sure she contracted it from Elinor," she added as an afterthought. She started for the stairs.

Forrest sought out his mother and, with some little difficulty, succeeded in extricating her from a lively conversation with Lady Fenwick about remedies for rheumatism, which included such unlikely practices as carrying a potato in one's pocket. Once he had her attention and a modicum of privacy, he acquainted her with Mrs. Winston-Fitts's concern for her daughter.

"No, I can't recall that I've seen her since the ball began, either, Forrest," replied the Countess to his question. "Of course, I've been sitting off in this corner for this half hour and more. Your supposition is likely right, that she is gone to her room for some reason or other."

A sudden possibility occurred to Forrest just then, as he recalled Rosalind's high complexion at dinner as well as Sir George's complacent air. He said nothing, however, merely taking the precaution of manoeuvring his mother to the foot of the stairs. He was glad he had done so a moment later when Mrs. Winston-Fitts reappeared above them, ashen-faced and clutching a crumpled sheet of paper.

As she seemed momentarily bereft of speech, Forrest steered her out onto the terrace.
 

Lady Dearborn, following in some concern, asked, "My dear lady, what is it? What has happened?"

"I—I cannot believe it," Mrs. Winston-Fitts stammered at length. Then, more strongly, "I'll not believe it! My Rosalind has more regard for my wishes than that!" Her glance strayed to the paper she held and her shoulders sagged.

"Please, Mrs. Winston-Fitts, you must tell us what is wrong," prodded the countess when no other information seemed forthcoming.

"Oh, Lady Dearborn!" exclaimed Mrs. Winston- Fitts, turning towards her. "It is worse, far worse than I had thought. She has been abducted, forced to an elopement by... by Sir George Bellamy! My husband —where is he? He must go after them at once!" cried Mrs. Winston-Fitts, wringing her hands. "Surely it is not too late to stop them."

Forrest made a manful effort to control his twitching lips. So, Sir George had taken his own advice, after all! He put his head in through the door and beckoned to a passing waiter, bidding him to fetch Mr. Winston-Fitts at once. "How long have they been gone?" he then asked the distraught woman in front of him, feeling it necessary to make at least a pretence of concern.

"I don't know. Hours, perhaps! I don't recall seeing either of them since the beginning of the ball. I have been in conversation with Lady Emma this hour and more, and only thought to look for her before the supper dance, to see who... that is, whether... but that is neither here nor there! When I went upstairs to check her room, I found this note tucked into the mirror frame!"
 

She held up the paper, but when Lord Dearborn would have taken it from her, she pulled it hastily away, handing it instead to her husband, who joined them at that moment, appearing somewhat the worse for drink.

"She says that Sir George has persuaded her to marry him and that they decided to be off at once. He must have forced her to this course somehow! They must be stopped!"

Mr. Winston-Fitts, perusing the note, raised his eyebrows at his wife's interpretation of its contents but said only, "They seem likely to be very happy together, my dear. I see no occasion for rushing off on a wild-goose chase."

"Emmett, stop and reflect, if you are able!" cried Mrs. Winston-Fitts, rounding on him angrily. "To reach Scotland, they must spend at least two nights on the road. Unmarried! My poor Rosalind's reputation will be quite ruined!"

Mr. Winston-Fitts sobered abruptly at this reminder. "I suppose you are right, my dear," he said with a sigh after a moment's thought. "I shall have to go after them. If my carriage can be made ready—"
 

"No, I'll go," interrupted Lord Dearborn decisively, earning startled glances from the Winston-Fittses as well as his mother. "No offence, sir, but I suspect my chances of overtaking them are rather better than yours."

"Why, how kind of you, my lord!" exclaimed Mrs. Winston-Fitts, her tragic countenance instantly transformed to one of delight. Plainly, she considered the Earl's offer fresh proof that he still meant to marry Rosalind. "I'm sure you can travel ever so much faster than Emmett." Her husband was looking frankly relieved.

"Forrest, are you quite certain...?" Lady Dearborn began, glancing uncomfortably at the beaming Mrs. Winston-Fitts.

"It occurred from this house, Mother. Therefore, I might be said to have some responsibility in the matter." Just how much, he hoped none of them would ever know. "Besides, if I cannot catch them, I daresay no one can." His look lent a certain significance to his last few words.

Lady Dearborn's face cleared as if by magic as she grasped his meaning. Turning to the Winston-Fittses, she said, "We'd best let Forrest be on his way. If we are to hush this up, we'll need to put our heads together to come up with a plausible excuse for your daughter's absence."
 

With a ghost of a wink at her son she hustled them away.
 

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Forrest whipped up the team of the landau carriage with profound relief. Miss Winston-Fitts's elopement had given him a perfect excuse to go after Ellie far earlier than he had hoped. So eager was he to reach her side that he would have ridden rather than driven, had not his ostensible errand prevented it; Mrs. Winston-Fitts would doubtless have protested his returning her daughter on horseback.

Of course, Forrest had not the slightest intention of continuing north past Birmingham to Gretna Green. Miss Winston-Fitts might marry whomever she wished, with his heartiest blessings. That thought suddenly made him pause. Examining his feelings, he could detect no inkling of regret for the woman who had held him spellbound for the past two months. No, Ellie had completely cured him of that silly, and nearly disastrous, infatuation. All he wanted to do now was to lay his heart before his beloved's feet and apologize for his previous stupidity.

This journey, therefore, served a twofold purpose. Not only would it bring him to his sweet Ellie before morning, but it should put off any other pursuit of Miss Winston-Fitts and Sir George, allowing them to complete their elopement in peace. Since he himself had suggested it, Forrest thought that it was the least he could do. He still marvelled, however, that the strait-laced Sir George had actually brought himself to do something so unconventional as eloping. It seemed so completely out of character.

Such thoughts as these served to while away his journey. He felt not the smallest twinge of guilt as he passed the turning for the road north and continued on towards Birmingham, but sent a silent wish for luck after the fleeing lovers. It was with great surprise, therefore, that he perceived a familiar travelling coach ahead of him a few minutes later. As the distance between them narrowed, he saw that it was unmistakably the one Sir George had brought to Huntington Park.

Forrest considered passing it by without stopping, but his curiosity got the better of him. He shouted to the coachman to stop as he drew his landau even with it. The startled driver pulled up the horses without protest, and a moment later Sir George himself emerged from the carriage.

"You fool, why did you stop?" he shouted to the coachman, then turned to face Forrest before he could answer.