Fourteen

FOURTEEN

Stockworth Manor – Drawing room

Shortly before supper that evening

Holding a glass of claret, Jack stood beside the blazing fire and examined the cheerful tableau before him. Festive ribbon-adorned greeneries now festooned the drawing, entry, ballroom, and dining rooms. Laughing guests, swathed in evening finery and dripping with glittering jewels, milled about.

So far, the Templetons’ yuletide house party was a rousing success.

The Penfords had entered the drawing room fifteen minutes ago, Lenora Langford and her husband, Stephen, five minutes later. Though Emmet hobbled around with a borrowed cane, he hadn’t stopped grinning since arriving.

The only thing missing to complete the evening was Aubriella’s pretty face, her ready—often droll—wit, and her perceptive acumen.

Would she remain in her chamber for supper too?

People had commented on her and Roxina Danforth’s absence this afternoon.

Jack missed Aubriella’s company, but understood she needed time to process her disappointment. It wasn’t like her to pout, though he knew he’d made her angry. Rather than seek her out to explain there’d been a fire at one of his restaurants, he’d decided to let her temper cool. Though grateful for the temporary respite in having to honor his wager with her, he couldn’t help but worry about the restaurant.

Thank God all the staff and patrons had escaped without harm. According to the letter sent by the manager and delivered by special messenger just before tea today, the staff contained the fire damage to the kitchen. Still, the smoke had permeated and damaged the dining area, too.

He needed to inspect the building to determine if he’d rebuild, move the restaurant to a new location, or abandon the venture altogether. He and Duncan had considered opening a seashore inn and restaurant in Brighton or Bath—mayhap now was the time to do so.

He took a sip of wine and returned Emmet’s nod of greeting.

While waiting for the dinner gong to sound, the guests assembled for a pre-dinner drink and conversation. The snow continued to fall outside, although not with the intensity it had earlier today. Five or six inches had accumulated, and as long as it didn’t snow heavily overnight, he could leave tomorrow as planned.

He’d ride rather than take a coach. It was faster and easier to maneuver. Deucedly colder, too. If all went well, he should return in three days, just as he promised Aubriella.

A commotion at the door drew his attention.

Fredericks, the Templetons’ staid-as-a-corpse butler, crossed the room with such alacrity several guests turned to watch his progress. Without preamble, he spoke near Mr. Penford’s ear.

Mr. Penford gawped at the butler, then blinked behind his thick spectacles as if he couldn’t comprehend what he’d heard.

Fredericks said something further and discreetly gestured toward the doorway.

Mr. Penford touched his wife’s shoulder and whispered in her ear. Her expression confused, Mrs. Penford finally dragged her attention from their youngest child, preening before a trio of young bucks.

One hand linked through her husband’s elbow, Mrs. Penford grasped Jessamine’s hand and all but hauled her toward the exit.

Noticing something was afoot, Emmet, leaning heavily on his borrowed cane, maneuvered through the crowd toward his parents. His flustered father spoke swiftly and rather frantically as they moved toward the corridor.

Jack set his half-full glass on the mantel.

Across the room, he met Shelby Tellinger’s mystified gaze.

Tellinger arched an eyebrow as he gave the Penfords and Langfords, now moving en masse toward the exit, a questioning look.

Angling his head and jerking his chin, Jack indicated he meant to follow.

Shelby joined him at the doorway. “Until tonight, I’ve never seen Clarence Penford anything but sedate and befuddled.”

“Neither have I.” Jack gave a brief glance over his shoulder as he stepped into the corridor.

Several guests noticed the Penfords’ and Langfords’ sudden departure, and a buzz of conjecture soon filled the drawing room.

Jack unabashedly followed the family into the dining room.

Mrs. Templeton sat in a chair before the beautifully set table, dabbing her face with a handkerchief while her husband awkwardly patted her shoulder.

“There, there, dumpling,” George Templeton soothed. “All will be well.”

Would it?

Jack wasn’t nearly as confident as Templeton, and he didn’t know what was afoot yet.

As Jack approached, remorse and chagrin twisted the coachman’s face.

“I tried to dissuade Miss Penford,” Mosely said. “But she and Miss Danforth were determined to leave immediately. She was most adamant and said they would go on foot if I didn’t take them into Westerham at once. I couldn’t let them walk in the snow or chance them coming upon riffraff.”

“This will help steady you.” Fredericks shoved a glass of brandy into the trembling servant’s hand.

From cold or upset?

Likely both.

“And you didn’t think to leave a note, man?” Mr. Penford put forth the logical question, his tone the most heated and firm Jack could ever recall of the timid fellow. This was the first time Jack had seen the renowned solicitor in action.

“There wasn’t time.” Mosely gulped the tumbler’s contents. “You know how stubborn Miss Penford can be when she gets a notion.”

Aye, when Aubrie dug in her heels, she became positively mulish.

Without being asked to, Fredericks refilled Mosely’s glass.

Jack and Shelby drifted closer, unnoticed by the room’s other occupants.

After taking another healthy gulp, Mosely bobbed his wizened head, his ears still glowing red from the cold. “I would’ve returned hours ago to alert you, but the coach slid off the track a few miles back. The roads are a wreck. No one’s traveled over them yet. It took me some time to realize I couldn’t free the coach. I had to unhitch the team and walk back with them.”

“I’ll send a few stout fellows and a new team to retrieve the coach,” Templeton offered while continuing to comfort his distraught wife.

“But where is Aubriella?” Mrs. Penford finally found her voice, sounding genuinely concerned. “I cannot believe my most sensible child would do something so imprudent. I never have to fuss about her.”

“She and Miss Danforth boarded the mail coach to London. I tried to dissuade her.” Mosely hung his head, the picture of dejection and penitence. He swallowed, and unshed tears glistened in his eyes when he raised his gaze. “She was in a right awful state. I’ve never seen her so distraught.”

Jack could imagine the mutinous jutting of her chin, the set angle of her jaw, and the sparks of rebellion shining in her eyes. Something about this afternoon—mayhap him telling her he was leaving—had compelled her to toss her normal common sense to the wind.

“At least she made for London,” Penford interjected. “That was sensible of her.”

Jack glared at the man, the urge to shake some sense into the oblivious fellow so strong he fisted his hands.

Lenora Langford wrapped an arm around her now weeping mother. “Don’t trouble yourself, Mama. Aubriella shall be fine. Don’t you always say that? You needn’t worry about her because she’s the logical, levelheaded child amongst us?”

“Even logical, levelheaded children need their family’s attention and love.” Jack’s thoughts tumbled out his mouth without forethought.

Several appalled gazes riveted on him.

Good.

It was long past time someone spoke directly to the Penfords about their neglect.

“I beg your pardon?” Mr. Penford bristled like a cock of the roost. “Are you implying we don’t love Aubriella?”

Jack plowed a hand through his hair. “No. I’m saying you ignore her. Disregard her and are indifferent to her. She’s practically invisible to you.” He met Penford’s confused gaze. “She has said as much to me.”

“That cannot be true.” Mrs. Penford shook her golden head, her ruby earrings swaying with her intensity. “She is… Well, she’s Aubriella.” As if that explained everything and nothing more needed saying. “She doesn’t need us?—”

“You’re wrong, Mama,” Jessamine piped in, drawing the family’s attention.

Brave imp.

“Whatever do you mean, child?” Confusion etched Penford’s thin features.

The man was dense as a turnip—obtuse as a rock.

Aubriella obviously didn’t inherit her intelligence from her parents.

Jessamine squared her shoulders and thrust her dainty chin upward. “I’ve seen the hurt in her eyes. We take her for granted. You did it this afternoon at tea.” She made a sweeping motion with her hand to include her entire family. “We all sat together, and you were bothered that you might have to move a chair to accommodate Aubriella. She doesn’t feel loved or that she is part of our family.”

That flighty Jessamine had also noticed what Jack had observed, suggested perhaps there was more to the youngest Penford than a pretty face.

“I… I… I didn’t realize.” Mrs. Penford wept freely, a handkerchief pressed to her eyes. “My poor, dear girl.”

Mr. Penford’s throat worked, and he turned away to lift his spectacles and dry his eyes.

“You don’t include Elli.” Emmet, his hands thrust into his pockets, paced back and forth. Accusation colored his tone. “I’ve seen it and should have said something sooner. I am just as guilty. How often, Mama and Papa, have you said Aubriella doesn’t need attention and guidance? That she would be all right? That you don’t worry about her?”

“Clearly, Aubriella is not all right. Or else she wouldn’t have fled during a snowstorm.” Jack strode forward, guilt at his contribution to her flight making his words terse and gnawing at his gut.

It occurred to him that Clarence Penford had no idea what to do.

Someone needed to take charge.

“Exactly how long ago did you leave Miss Penford in Westerham, Mosely?” Jack glanced at the longcase clock situated in a corner. Nearly seven. He’d last seen Aubriella at three. Four hours’ head start. In this weather, he could overtake a slow-moving coach easily.

“Around half four, Mr. Matherfield,” Mosely said.

He caught Tellinger’s attention. “Can you be ready to ride in ten minutes?”

“I’ll meet you at the stable.” Tellinger headed toward the door.

“You have a firearm with you?” Tellinger never traveled unarmed, and he likely had multiple weapons at his disposal.

Tellinger gave a terse nod before leaving the room.

“Jack?” Emmet wobbled forward. “I wish I could accompany you, but I would only slow you down. Please bring my sister back safely.”

“I have every intention of doing so, my friend.” He patted Emmet’s shoulder.

“Mr. Templeton?” Jack mentally calculated the distance they’d need to travel and the route to take. “May I impose upon you to have horses saddled? Sturdy horses. Perhaps a bag with extra blankets, too?”

“Of course.” Templeton waved at Fredericks. “See to it at once.”

“Yes, sir.” Fredericks put aside his usual staid dignity and departed the room at an impressive sprint.

Jack pivoted to go, his stomach in knots and fear creeping along his spine.

Two pretty women traveling alone in this weather…

God.

His stomach roiled so violently he couldn’t finish the thought.

“Jack?” He faced Mr. Penford.

“Yes?”

“Find Aubriella. Please.” Mr. Penford blew his nose noisily.

Mrs. Penford lifted her blotchy face from her saturated hankie. “Yes, Jack. Do. Please. She must know how much we love her. We’ve been remiss, but we must tell her how sorry we are and ask her forgiveness.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to blurt that Aubriella mightn’t be in this perilous predicament if they’d told her sooner how they felt when the truth hit him with the force of a bludgeon to the skull.

His gait faltered, and dizziness befuddled his mind for a second.

Jack loved Aubriella.

Oh, God. I love her.

Only he hadn’t recognized the feelings for what they were. He had loved Aubriella for so long it had become second nature. He adored her uniqueness, quirkiness, freckles, hazel eyes, long limbs, and intelligence. In truth, he cherished her stubbornness, skepticism, prickliness when he teased her, and everything else about her.

And the sooner he had his arse in the saddle, the sooner he could tell her just that.

Please, Lord. Keep her safe.

He rushed from the room, the desire to find her, to make sure she was safe, more important than breathing.

I’m coming, my darling. I’m coming.