Chapter 32

Chapter

Thirty-Two

W ithin the hour, his carriage had arrived at Vauxhall. He walked around the crowds, speaking to those he recognized, yet his wife remained frustratingly aloof.

Fear bundled in his stomach that perhaps she had found herself at the hands of unsavory gentlemen or had left with Lord Lennox. He would kill him stone dead if the earl dared touch one hair on his wife's head.

Surely, she would not be so foolish as to leave with a man, not her husband, or walk the gardens alone. No, she would be well and safe, and nothing would happen to her.

He would never forgive himself if she came to some harm, and he refused to escort her as he ought to have when she asked.

He shook his head, walked through the bustling crowds, checked every supper box, and spoke to several friends, all of whom said they had seen Lady Tyndall earlier in the night, but not for some time since.

Had she walked off into the gardens with some unknown gentleman admirer? She would not have done such an underhanded, cruel act toward him, surely.

They were married, and although they may not have always been close, surely she would know that he had not been unfaithful these past weeks and expected the same from her.

A familiar sight of red, flaming hair caught his eye, and he pushed through the crowd, only to come upon the revelers and find that it was not Genevieve at all.

Not that she would not have worn a wig this evening. She only wore her hair down in private.

Where was she?

Lord Lennox caught his eye across the grounds and started toward him. Beckett hated that the man seemed a little uneasy and uncomfortable in his presence. Had he taken liberties that were not his to enjoy? He would see him at dawn if he had.

Beckett's eye twitched. "Lord Lennox, I hope you're enjoying your night."

The young buck chuckled and lifted his whisky in salute. "Always, but it doesn't appear as if you are. Is there something amiss, Lord Tyndall. You seemed a little flustered. Have you lost something?"

He narrowed his eyes on the young man, not appreciating that he would call him out so. Yes, he was unsettled, he couldn't find his damn wife, and this little popinjay had followed her skirts for some weeks, and no doubt knew if Genevieve was still here.

"Where is she?" he asked bluntly. Not bothering to name Genevieve. Lord Lennox knew of whom he spoke.

He shrugged. "I do not know. We parted ways some hours ago." He tapped his chin. "Oh, that is right, I remember now. She mentioned another ball in Mayfair, a masquerade, or was it a costume ball. I forget now. There are so many held each night it is hard to keep up."

Beckett ignored his vagueness and fought not to throttle the truth out of him. "Are you saying Lady Tyndall has left?"

"I think so, but should you not know where your wife is, my lord? That is bad form, I must say."

Beckett didn't bother to answer. He merely turned on his heel and started back to where his carriage was parked. He would attend every ball and dinner this evening in town if it meant finding where his wife was.

Not that he cared that she enjoyed society. She was a duke's daughter, she was brought up to rule over society, be the matriarch for the rich, but he didn't like not knowing exactly where she was.

The Vauxhall ball was a seedy, dangerous place, and if she had left, which surely she had as he could not find her, was a little comfort to his nerves.

But he needed to find her. Ensure she was well and safe.

Confirm she was still his and no one else's.

"Mayfair, Tommy, and quickly, man," he ordered his driver, climbing into the carriage and slamming the door closed. The carriage lurched forward as his driver did as he was instructed.

They moved toward Mayfair at a good clip and it wasn't long before they were back in town.

He jumped from the vehicle before it stopped before the Fraser town house, the very one where he'd shared the first kiss with Genevieve.

Was she here, masquerading and flirting with other gentlemen who offered her the attention and affection she craved but he had not given her?

He ought to be shot for pushing her away as long as he had. Was Martin correct? Did he love his wife? Was the fear of losing anyone he cared for ever again keeping him from giving her his heart?

He'd lost his parents, two good people he missed every day, even now. Was he subconsciously keeping Genevieve at a distance in case something dreadful happened to her, too?

Panic crawled over his skin, and he pushed it down, not wanting it to shadow his judgment. All would be well. She would be at one of these events, no doubt with her friends.

He entered the house, shrouded with shadows, music, and people doing nefarious things in secluded corners. He walked around, looking for anyone who appeared similar to Genevive. A difficult assignment since everyone was cloaked or wearing masks.

"Lord Tyndall, I did not think you would be here this evening? Lady Masters is over there," Lady Fraser suggested, nodding in the direction of a previous lover.

He smiled, not wanting to be rude, even though a set down that she would suggest he be unfaithful to his wife sat on the tip of his tongue. "I wondered if Lady Tyndall has arrived? We thought to attend this evening."

"Oh, the countess? No, I have not seen her, but be sure to enjoy your time here until she arrives." Lady Fraser flounced off, and he wanted to cast up his accounts.

Did they all believe him to be the type of man who would be unfaithful? Of course, they did. He'd taunted Genevieve that he would not change, but that was far from the truth. He had changed. She had changed him.

For the better, no less.

He left the masque and, over the next several hours, visited entertainments of all levels of society, but Genevieve was still nowhere to be found.

Where the hell was she?

He stood at the Haddington ball, ran a hand through his hair, and spied Lady Charlotte and Matilda. Hope shot through him, and he started toward them. Where The Graces were, typically Genevieve was also.

"Lord Tyndall, how good to see you." Lady Matilda looked past him, eagerness in her gaze. "Where is Genevieve? We hoped to see her this evening, even though she said she had another engagement."

"So she's not here?" He swallowed the terror and tried to look nonchalant, but it was not good. He had checked all over London, and she was nowhere to be found.

Was she hurt, lying on some cobbled road, or cold, dark walk at Vauxhall injured?

"No, she was to attend the Vauxhall ball, but we could not go. It was a little too scandalous for unmarried women such as ourselves, but she said you were joining her and could not make this event."

He nodded, his mind racing. Sweat broke out on his skin, and his legs felt suddenly weak.

"I must go." He wished he could remove the fear that his words brought on Genevieve's friends' faces, but he did not have the time.

He ran from the ball, climbing into his carriage and calling it to return home. He would change his clothing, gather his staff, steward, and everyone if need be, and start searching all over London.

If Genevieve was in trouble, he would find and save her before it was too late.

Only minutes later, he arrived home. He bolted from the carriage, shouting orders no sooner had he entered the house. He ran up the stairs and met his valet in the passage, carrying several clothing items downstairs.

"Steven, help me change. I cannot find Lady Tyndall, and I fear something untoward has occurred this evening. I need your help." He entered his room, ripping off his cravat and hearing his valet follow close on his heels.

"My lord, if I may…"

"I've looked at every ball and party in London this evening, and she is nowhere to be found. I need our biggest, burly footmen to search the grounds at Vauxhall. I shall supply the vehicle and send my man of business to gather help from as many London watchmen as we can hire. We must find her."

"My lord."

"Send word to her ladyship's father, the duke. He will assist me in finding her."

"Lord Tyndall, allow me to speak a moment," his valet almost yelled.

Beckett looked up from pulling off his evening shoes to replace them with riding boots. "What is it, man? We must act with haste."

"My lord, Lady Tyndall is asleep in her room. She's been home for hours, returned but an hour or two after leaving this evening for the Vauxhall ball. There is no need to send out a search party, for her ladyship is safely ensconced next door."