Love's Promise (11 page)

As Fanny neared, she slowed, pausing, so that she could survey the scene inside. The space was long and narrow, grandiose in its furnishings, with red and gold wallpaper, high ceilings, and chandeliers that sparkled with hundreds of candles.

There was a table running down the center, decorated with pristine linens, expensive china, and crystal goblets. An imposing older man, who had to be the Duke, sat at one end, and a pretty dark-haired woman sat at the other. Thirty or forty guests were seated on both sides.

It was a formal affair, a sea of silk, satin, and glittering jewels. There were no children present, so she didn’t see Thomas, but Lord Henley was at the other end, too, sitting at the Duke’s right hand.

“Get out of the way,” a footman snapped at her. “You’re holding everybody up.”

Fanny stepped away as if to proceed down the stairs, but instead, she hid in the shadows to muster her courage. Finally, the course was served, and the hall emptied.

She was alone, and she peeked both ways, then slipped into the dining room. As she did, it occurred to her that she was fatigued and famished, and in her deteriorated condition, it was possible that she was making a bad decision. But she didn’t care.

She’d just traveled so far! It seemed as if she’d been waiting years to confront Lord Henley, and if she wasn’t allowed to talk with him—at once!—she didn’t know how she could go on.

To her surprise, it was very quiet, despite the large company. They were all chatting, but softly, as if they were in church. There was a buzz of conversation, and the clink of forks scraping the china. Lord Henley and the Duke seemed a long distance away, as if she was viewing them through a dark tunnel.

Several footmen were pouring wine. One of them saw her, and he frowned and gestured frantically for her to depart, but his alarm meant nothing to her. He might have been invisible.

He started toward her, ready to shoo her out, as she took a deep breath and said, “I’ve come for my nephew.”

Everyone froze, scowling, forks suspended in mid-air, as if they weren’t sure someone had spoken, so she said it again, more loudly.

“I’ve come for my nephew, and I’m not leaving without him. Where is he?”

All heads swiveled toward her, and suddenly, dozens of people were critically assessing her. There were excited whispers, nervous chuckles, feminine titters.

“Who the devil are you?” the Duke asked.

“I am Frances Carrington.”

“Frances...Carrington?” He looked as if he couldn’t place the name, then recognition dawned. “Who the hell let you in?”

“You stole my nephew. You’ve kidnapped him, and I want him back.”

“Listen here, you stupid little hussy—”

He stood, but Lord Henley stood with him.

“I’ll handle this, Your Grace.”

There was a woman seated across from Lord Henley, and she wrinkled her nose in disgust. She was about Fanny’s age and very beautiful, with striking blond hair, icy blue eyes, and she was wearing a diamond tiara as if she were a princess.

“Really, Michael,” she indignantly complained, “must you bother with her? Can’t the servants deal with it?”

Lord Henley flashed a furious glare, then threw his napkin on the table.

“No, they can’t. If you’ll excuse me...?”

He stormed round the table and marched over to Fanny, and she supposed they painted an odd picture. He was attired in his formal black evening clothes, with velvet fabric on the collar and cuffs of his perfectly-tailored jacket. A red rose added color to the lapel, and his shirt and cravat were blindingly white.

In contrast, she was rumpled and dowdy in her plain gray dress. Her shoes were muddy and scuffed, her hair windblown and snarled, her cheeks sunburned from her journey.

The differences between them were blatant and stark, and she had no idea how they’d been so compatible when they’d first met in the country.

He could have been an actor
, she thought.

He had the ability to blend in with his environment, and here, surrounded by his family and peers, there was no mistaking that he was precisely where he belonged. In bursting in as she had, she had grossly miscalculated.

“I will speak with you outside,” he hissed.

“Where is Thomas? What have you done with him?”

His blue eyes flickered with such rage that sparks seemed to fly around the room.

“Out! Side!” he repeated.

He loomed over her, intimidating her with his size, with his position, with all that he was and she was not.

Her head spun. She was off balance, shaky and disoriented, and she couldn’t catch her breath. There wasn’t a drop of air to be had, and she was so dizzy that she couldn’t tell which way was up or down. Her stomach rumbled again, reminding her that it had been three days since she’d eaten.

She tipped to one side, then the other, and as he reached out to the grab her, she collapsed to the floor with a muted thud.

CHAPTER EIGHT

No one moved, the entire group having been struck dumb by the spectacle of the young girl challenging the imposing duke in front of a crowd of noble guests. It was like something out of a storybook, like something out of a theatrical melodrama. It didn’t seem real.

Phillip Sinclair stood and walked over to where Miss Carrington was lying on the carpet. She’d fallen next to Anne, but Anne hadn’t budged to assist her. Anne was frowning down at the crumpled waif as if she were a dog that had made a mess on the rug.

Michael hadn’t moved either, but continued to stare at Miss Carrington as if she were a ghost.

Phillip shook his head in disgust. Sometimes, he really feared for the two of them. They were so steeped in tradition and rank that they couldn’t see what asses they were being. They represented everything he despised, and if he hadn’t been friends with them for so long, he might have stomped out and never come back.

“I thought you said the family was fine with the transfer,” Phillip muttered to Michael.

“I said the mother was fine with it,” Michael tersely replied. “It was none of the aunt’s affair.”

“Obviously, she would beg to disagree.”

Phillip knelt down and scooped her into his arms, finding her light as a feather, so he figured it had probably been quite awhile since she’d last eaten.

“
Lady
Anne,” he groused as he rose, “if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, might you show me to a private room so this poor creature can compose herself?”

“Oh!” Anne was jolted out of her stupor. “Yes, yes, pardon me.”

She rose, too, when the Duke spoke from the other end of the table.

“Anne, I don’t give you permission to leave. Call for the housekeeper.” He snapped his fingers at the nearest footman. “You! Get that miscreant out of here so Mr. Sinclair can finish his supper in peace.”

The Duke smiled thinly, then picked up his fork and commenced dining as if nothing peculiar had transpired. There was a hesitation, some confused dithering, then the guests resumed eating, too.

The footman approached, and Phillip cast a withering glance at him, then at Anne.

“It’s all right,” he said, “I don’t mind having my meal interrupted.”

He departed with Miss Carrington cradled to his chest, and he proceeded down the hall to the foyer, worried about what to do with her. Behind him, he heard Anne in the dining room.

“I’ll be back in a moment.” Her chair scraped across the floor. “If you’ll excuse me...?”

“Anne!” the Duke barked. “You will not attend her.”

“I’ll be back in a moment!” she said again, and there was a firmness in her tone that Phillip hadn’t noted before.

She hurried after Phillip. Michael followed her out, too.

“Is she...dead?” Anne asked.

“No, just starving.”

Michael sucked in a sharp breath. “Starving! That’s not possible.”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“But how could it have happened?”

“How would you suppose? She’s poor; she didn’t have any money to buy food. You visited her home. Didn’t it occur to you that she could use a bit of help?”

“She was perfectly fine when I left!” Michael protested.

Phillip scoffed and turned to Anne. “I want to lie her down on a bed. Where should I take her?”

“A bed! Well...”

“You
do
have a bed available, don’t you, Anne? I believe you once advised me there were thirty-two bedchambers in this accursed house.”

His look was scathing, shaming, and she blushed and recovered herself.

“Yes, yes, of course. Come with me.”

Servants were hovering, and Anne whispered swift comments to several of them, then she led Phillip to the stairs. They began to climb, but Michael stayed where he was, silent, glaring at Miss Carrington as if she’d committed an unforgivable sin.

They meandered down numerous deserted hallways, conveying Miss Carrington to the very rear of the mansion where only the lowliest guests were ever lodged, but Phillip wasn’t concerned about it. The Wainwright’s very worst bedchamber would be better than anything Miss Carrington would ever have observed prior.

They entered a cold, shuttered room that likely hadn’t been occupied in months—or perhaps years. Phillip deposited Miss Carrington on the mattress and wrapped her in a blanket, then he pulled up a chair and sat, patting her hand, trying to rouse her. Maids puttered about, lighting a fire and removing dust covers from the furniture.

In a few minutes, the place was habitable, and Anne shooed the maids out. Before they vanished, Phillip ordered, “Bring a tray for her.”

The maids visually appealed to Anne to see if she approved, and she gave a quick nod.

“Tell Cook I want soup and bread,” Phillip said, “cheese and fruit and brandy. And I want hot water and towels and...some clothes. She needs a nightgown and some slippers; and a clean dress to wear in the morning.”

They curtsied and fled, no doubt eager to get belowstairs and gossip about what they’d witnessed.

“Will she...will she be all right?” Anne inquired.

“Hopefully. I’m sure some food and rest will work wonders.”

“Why did she come here?”

“She wasn’t happy with your family’s meddling.”

“It was all settled about Thomas!”

“Was it?”

“Michael said he took care of everything; he said everyone was in agreement.”

“Not her, apparently.”

“But...but...what should be done with her?”

“What do you think?”

“I have no idea.”

He rolled his eyes. At times, she was thick as a brick. He wanted to shake her. He wanted to rail at her. She was like a beautiful, exasperating child. He took a deep breath, seeking calm, seeking patience.

“She’ll remain here until she’s better, and then you’ll arrange to send her home. Now go away. You annoy me.”

“I can’t leave you alone with her.”

He snorted. “Are you afraid I’ll ravish her?”

“I’ll stay until the maids return,” she insisted, her jaw tight, her temper as blistering as his own.

“Trust me, Lady Anne, no one in the world gives two figs if I’m alone with her. So be gone—before you make me angry with your idle chatter.”

He stared her down, and he could sense that she yearned to retort in a snide way, but she’d spent so many years groveling to her father that Phillip couldn’t fathom how she’d ever muster the temerity to speak frankly to a man.

She stormed out without another word while he tarried with Miss Carrington. She was such a tiny thing, so thin and frail, yet as she’d quietly faced down the Duke, she’d looked so valiant and aggrieved. Phillip had been charmed by her pluck, amazed by her daring, and he struggled to rein in his fury over their treatment of her.

After Michael had first met her, he’d wondered if she might be one of Phillip’s sisters. Was she? Could it be possible? Was that why he felt such a strong connection?

He was about to fuss with her dress, to peek up her sleeve to check if her wrist carried the Trent birthmark, but the moment was lost as the maids hauled in the items he’d demanded. They were depositing their wares as Miss Carrington stirred. She peered at the ceiling, her confusion evident, then she gazed at Phillip, her green eyes troubled.

“Where am I?”

“Still in the Duke’s mansion. We’re in one of the bedchambers.”

“What happened?” Her tongue flicked out, licking her dry lips.

“You fainted.”

“Oh...”

She reached up as if she might stroke her aching forehead, but it was too much of an effort, and her hand dropped to her side.

“How long has it been since you’ve eaten?”

“I don’t remember.”

“I’m Phillip Sinclair. I’m a good friend of Lord Henley’s. I’ve known him since we were boys.”

Her expression was blank, her muddled mind trying to focus. “I came so far, and he didn’t even listen.”

There was such a poignant note of melancholy in her tone that he linked his fingers through hers and gave them a squeeze.

“I realize that.”

“I’m not sure what to do now.”

“You’ll stay here for a few days, to relax and recuperate, then we’ll make some plans for you.”

“I have to find Thomas!” She rose up as if she might march out that very second, but she had no energy to flee, and she sank onto the pillow.

“Thomas is fine, but you are not. You need to regain your health.”

“Not here!” she wailed. “Not with Lord Henley and the Duke. Not with them! I can’t.”

“It’s all arranged,” Phillip advised. “Lady Anne is Lord Henley’s sister. She specifically requested that you remain until you’re feeling better.”

“She did?”

“Yes,” he lied. “So the maids will help you eat and wash, then I want you to sleep the night away. I’ll stop by in the morning to check on you.”

“Are you a doctor?”

“No. I’m your friend.”

“I don’t have any friends.”

“You have me,” he gently said.

He couldn’t guess what tragedies had befallen Miss Carrington after Michael had taken her nephew, but obviously, it had been traumatic, and Phillip was intent that she be nursed and tended.

He eased away and went over to the eldest of the maids.

“What is your name?”

“Peggy, sir.”