Chapter Twenty

S he'd left him.

Samuel pulled on the riding coat which Smithson had handed to him, that same handful of words circling around his mind over and over again. She'd left him. The shame, the pain and the guilt she'd so clearly felt about all that she'd confessed last night had been too much for her to bear. And he, to his eternal damnation, had been thoroughly inadequate in the face of it, failing to comfort her, to properly reassure her. To tell her that none of it changed what he felt for her. Instead, he'd simply stood by as she'd walked out of his bedchamber and now out of his life.

She'd left him, and now he might never see her again.

Now, because of his hesitation, she was wandering the countryside, alone and vulnerable. God forbid she should end up injured again or, worse, find herself a captive of her father once more. If some dreadful fate befell her, it would be all his fault.

She'd left him, and now he had to find her. He had to make amends.

‘She could be anywhere by now. This will be like searching for a needle in a haystack.'

Next to him, Charles gave voice to Samuel's niggling fears as he fiddled with his top hat. Outside, the grooms were readying two horses as fast as they could, after Samuel had all but press-ganged his friend into assisting him in his search for Hope. In the sheer panic he felt following Maddie's revelation that Hope was nowhere to be found, Samuel had appraised his maid, his butler and Charles of what Hope had revealed last night. All three had expressed their surprise. Like Samuel, they appeared to have harboured no suspicions that she'd been anything other than what she'd said she was.

‘We have to try, Charles,' Samuel implored him. ‘I cannot just sit here, knowing that Hope could be in danger. What if her father finds her?'

‘But where should we even begin to look?' Charles countered. ‘We don't know where she's going. Try not to fret, Sammy, I dare say she can look after herself. Women like her are...'

‘What do you mean, women like her?' Samuel almost growled the question.

Charles held up a hand in protest. ‘I mean no offence, of course. All I mean to say is that she's hardly lived a sheltered life. Surely she's proven just how resourceful she is, considering how well she's pulled the wool over your eyes for all these weeks.'

‘And surely you can see that she had her reasons.' Samuel wished the grooms would hurry up, so that he could end this conversation. So that he could begin his search.

‘I can see that given the chance and the talent required to pull it off, any base-born woman would pretend to be a princess if it meant ensnaring a wealthy gentleman.' Charles fiddled with his collar in front of the mirror, his reflection shooting Samuel a pointed look.

‘That isn't why Hope deceived me,' Samuel replied, bristling. ‘She lied to protect herself. If either one of us could be accused of lying to impress the other, then it is me. I know what you think of her, Charles, now that you know she's an actress without a penny to her name...'

‘It doesn't matter what I think, Sammy,' Charles replied, turning around. ‘I'm not the one who is besotted with Hope Swynford or Sloane or whoever she is.' He raised a knowing eyebrow. ‘Or perhaps this is something more than infatuation?' he added searchingly.

Samuel shrugged, having neither the will to deny his feelings nor the desire to elaborate upon them. What he felt for Hope had gone beyond mere infatuation, but Charles did not need to know that. The only person in the world who needed to know the depth of what he felt was Hope herself. If he found her.

When he found her.

‘Richmond,' he said after a moment, answering Charles's earlier question. ‘Her theatre company came from Richmond. Perhaps that is where she is hoping to return to now. It would make sense, wouldn't it?'

‘You want to go all the way to Richmond?' Charles stared at him, incredulous. ‘That is several days of hard riding across the dales.'

Samuel put up a hand in protest. ‘I'm saying that is the direction we should head in,' he said. ‘It would appear that Hope is travelling on foot and, whilst she has recovered from her injuries, her ankle in particular will still be delicate. She will not be moving quickly. On horseback we stand a good chance of catching up with her.'

‘If we can correctly guess the route she has taken,' Charles pointed out.

‘To find her way there, she will surely have to follow the roads,' Samuel replied with a confidence he did not feel. He glanced towards the door impatiently. Where in damnation were those grooms with their horses? The longer they delayed, the further Hope would have travelled from Hayton, and the harder it would be to find her...

‘Excuse me, sir.'

The soft, wavering voice of Maddie interrupted Samuel's spiralling thoughts. He spun around to see the maid standing in the middle of the hallway, tears spilling down her cheeks, clutching a delicate swathe of cream fabric in her hands. She held it up towards him, revealing that it was in fact a shawl. His heart lurched in recognition—it had belonged to Rosalind, and had been one of the items he'd given Hope to wear.

‘I found this in the garden,' she explained, her bottom lip trembling. ‘I was attending to Miss Gordon when she spotted it out of the window, stuck to one of the shrubs.'

‘So she has fled via the woods then, and lost this on her way,' Charles interjected.

Maddie shook her head. ‘I'm not sure about that, sir. You see, when I went outside to retrieve it, I noticed that the stones covering the path have been disturbed as though...as though there may have been a struggle. As though someone has been dragged along.' She turned her gaze to Samuel, looking at him imploringly. ‘Oh, sir, what if her father has taken her? What if he's found her after all these weeks?'

Samuel's heart seemed to sink like a stone into the pit of his stomach. He'd been so wrapped up in the events of last night, so consumed by his own shortcomings in the face of her revelations, that he'd neglected to remember the danger Hope was in. The danger she'd always been in.

She had not run away from him at all. She'd been taken.

‘I fear this is all my fault.' A faint voice crept into the brief silence which had descended in the hall, and Samuel glanced up to see a pale and frail Miss Gordon making her way gingerly down the stairs. Immediately, Maddie stepped forward to help her, but the lady waved the maid away.

‘I don't quite see how any of this is your responsibility, Henrietta,' Charles said.

Samuel watched as a small frown gathered between Miss Gordon's dark eyes. ‘That day at the docks in Lowhaven, when I...when Miss Sloane, as Maddie tells me she is in fact called...when Miss Sloane left the carriage to intercept me, she must have been recognised. If I had not gone there that day, then this might not have happened.'

‘Miss Sloane's father is a common criminal, sister,' Charles replied. ‘I dare say he would have gone to any lengths to locate her. I am quite certain this is not your doing.'

Miss Gordon put up her hand. ‘From what I hear, her father is a smuggler, amongst other things. The notion that she was not recognised by someone at that port is therefore laughable. No, brother, I must take responsibility for the consequences of my actions.' She turned to Samuel. ‘I implore you, Mr Liddell, please find her and bring her safely back to Hayton. Whoever she is matters not a jot. She has been good and kind to me, even when I have not deserved it.'

Samuel gave her a solemn nod. ‘You have my word,' he replied. ‘At least now we know where we need to look for her, and it is much closer to home than Richmond.'

‘Where?' Charles asked, frowning.

‘An isolated hamlet called Lillybeck, a few miles north of here,' Samuel said, stepping along the hallway towards the library, the semblance of a plan starting to form in his mind. ‘But first I'm going to fetch a couple of pistols. If we're going to get Hope away from that villain of a man once and for all, then I dare say we ought to be armed.'

Hope's eyes flickered open, and for several moments she struggled to fathom where she was. Her head was pounding, and she felt sick and dizzy as she tried to focus on her surroundings. Before she'd awoken she'd been dreaming—she could recall that much. She'd been in Samuel's bedchamber, just as she had been when she'd confessed to who she truly was, except that in her dream, Samuel had not appeared frozen in horror, and she had not left. Instead, he'd told her that he loved her, he'd taken her in his arms and embraced her, before taking her to his bed, where she'd spent many hours wrapped up in his crisp white sheets. Wrapped up in him.

It had been a wanton, desirous dream, and one which ought to have brought a blush to her cheeks at the remembrance of it. Instead, as her blurry vision and sleep-addled mind finally gave way to clear and grim reality, she felt the colour drain from her face. Having relished her dream, she'd now awoken to a nightmare.

‘Welcome back, my lady. Sorry about the sore head. You weren't for co-operating so I'd no choice but to knock you out cold.'

Hope blinked, trying to force her eyes to focus. ‘How did I get...'

‘Here?' Jeremiah Sloane finished her question for her. ‘In a cart, lass. Roddy's cart. You remember Roddy, don't you?'

Hope grimaced at the memory of her father's long-standing accomplice. His had been one of the few faces she'd recognised that fateful night outside the theatre in Lowhaven, all those weeks ago. Now she thought about it, it had been his cart in which she'd been conveyed, bound and gagged, to her father's cottage that time too.

Jeremiah Sloane sat across the table from her, his customary mug of his strong brew clutched in his hand. Around them the cottage was dim and damp, the light of a single tallow candle doing little to ward off either the shadows or the creeping chill.

Gripped by panic, Hope tried to move, only to realise that she'd been tied to the chair upon which she sat, her hands and feet tightly bound.

‘Oh, aye, I wasn't taking any chances this time,' he said, his eyes narrowed at her even as he chuckled. He took a long drink from his mug before wiping his mouth with the back of his filthy hand. ‘Hayton Hall then, eh? You did well for yourself there, lass. And, judging by the look of you, you've not been working as a scullery maid neither. Aye, quite the lady. George will love that. He likes nothing better than to spoil fine things.'

‘Still intent upon marrying me to one of your disgusting associates, then?' she asked, trying to ignore the bile which rose in her throat.

Her father simply shrugged. ‘Marry you, not marry you—George can do as he sees fit. It's naught to me what happens to you, not after all the trouble you've caused.'

Hope stared at him. ‘What on earth are you talking about? I've done nothing to you, Pa. Nothing at all.'

She tried her best not to flinch as Jeremiah Sloane launched himself towards her. ‘Done nothing, have you?' he repeated, his face mere inches from hers. ‘You cost me dearly is what you've done.' He slumped back down in his chair, reaching immediately for his mug and taking another large gulp of its potent contents. ‘If only you'd wed five years ago when I arranged it, then all this unpleasantness could have been avoided. Instead, you ran away, and I had to pick up the pieces. Malky was not happy, you know. He'd taken quite a shine to you, so much so that he'd agreed to write off my debt to him as soon as you'd wed. Instead...well, as I said, you cost me dearly.'

‘Malky?' Hope repeated, grimacing as her head continued to pound. Five years ago, her father had kept her in the dark about exactly who she was to wed, and she had fled before she'd had chance to find out. She did not recall anyone called Malky, although apparently he'd known her. ‘Who is he?'

‘Was,' her father corrected her, before draining the contents of his mug. ‘He lived on the Isle of Man, traded from there. Died a couple of years back—drowned at sea during a storm. Always a risk-taker was Malky. He wasn't the worst sort, though. A better man than George, to be sure. The man's a beast.'

‘A beast you're forcing me to wed,' she goaded him.

Jeremiah Sloane slammed his mug on the table. ‘And for that you have only yourself to blame! Unpaid debts don't go away, my lass. They grow and grow. Things started to get desperate, and I had to pay Malky somehow so...'

‘So you borrowed from Peter to pay Paul,' Hope said, the penny finally dropping. ‘And kept on borrowing, from the sounds of it.'

‘Aye, except these men aren't the apostles. In George's case, more like the Devil himself.'

‘And let me guess, when word reached you that I'd been spotted in Lowhaven theatre, you saw a chance to settle your debts for good this time. You offered me up on a plate to this George and he was willing to take me instead of payment, just like that?'

Her father shook his head. ‘No, George insisted on seeing you first. A man like that wants to know what he's getting. I knew he'd want you though, the moment he saw you on stage.' He smiled bitterly. ‘You got your mother's good looks, after all.'

Hope shivered at the thought of that beastly man surveying her like a prize heifer at a market. ‘I'm not goods to be bartered and traded,' she said quietly. ‘How could you, Pa? Your own daughter?'

‘Sold yourself, though, didn't you?' he retorted, not answering her question. He filled his mug again, then took a self-satisfied sip. ‘I wonder what fine clothes like that cost you, Hope? What price the master of Hayton Hall put on dressing you up and letting you parade around his grand house and gardens like a duchess? He must have thought all his Christmases had come at once. An actress? No better than a bawd.'

Hope felt the heat of indignation rise in her chest as she strained against the ropes which bound her. ‘Samuel is not like that!' she snapped. ‘He has been faultlessly kind to me and never asked for anything in return.'

An amused smile crept slowly over Jeremiah Sloane's face, showing off an incomplete set of brown teeth. ‘Samuel is it, eh? You really did get your feet well under his plentiful table. He certainly kept you well hidden. A shame you got careless and went wandering about the port with your fancy gentleman.' He began to chuckle, although quickly it gave way to a terrible hacking cough.

Hope felt a solitary tear trickle down her face and wished with all her heart that she could swipe the evidence away. The last thing she wanted her cold and callous father to see was how much his words hurt her, or how much she cared for Samuel. She was all too aware how capable he was of using even the merest hint of emotion against her and turning it into a weakness to exploit. So she bit her tongue, forcing herself to remain silent rather than letting him know how wrong his sordid view of her relationship with Samuel was. Rather than telling him exactly what sort of gentleman she'd been living with, or just how blessed she felt to have spent time in his company.

Because truly, she thought now, Samuel had been a blessing, and not just when he'd come to her rescue that night in the woods. He'd been a blessing every day since, treating her with a kindness and gentleness she'd never before known. He'd welcomed her into his life and whilst he had lied about having a title, in every respect that mattered he'd shown her who he was. He was a considerate, thoughtful man who was interested in the world, and interested in her, listening to her and talking to her as an equal.

But of course, she reminded herself, she had been pretending to be his equal. The truth of her lowly birth had brought an end to that and, with it, an end to his affection for her. Perhaps, she reasoned, that was what had really brought tears to her eyes, and not her father's insults.

Perhaps she was crying for the loss of a future she'd almost fooled herself into thinking she could have. A future with Samuel. A future where he loved her and she loved him.

Because if she was honest with herself, that was what she felt. She did love him. But that love was as futile as it was unwanted. Samuel could never love her—that much had been plain in his horrified gaze and his distant demeanour last night. No doubt her disappearance from Hayton would come as something of a relief, marking the end of an embarrassing episode in his life when he'd been fooled into caring for an actress and an outlaw's daughter.

‘Pity you won't find life with George quite so comfortable,' Jeremiah Sloane continued to taunt her, his fit of coughing abating. ‘I sent Roddy to tell him that you're here. Word is that he's in Lowhaven finishing a job, so I dare say it won't take him long to come for you. If you know what's good for you, you'll wipe that sour look off your face and try your damnedest not to provoke him. He's been in a foul temper since you ran away as it is.'

He began to cough again, uncontrollably this time, forcing him to rummage in the pocket of his breeches and fish out a filthy rag with which to stifle the rasping, barking sound. From her restrained position Hope could do nothing but watch and, as she did, she began to study the man, to really look at him as though she might be laying eyes on him for the first time. As a girl she'd been terrified of his ferocity, of his temper, of the power she believed his life of crime had granted him. Now, watching him, she saw an ageing man, his skin sallow, his dirty clothes hanging from his emaciated frame, his would-be handkerchief bloodstained and betraying the illness which gripped him. She saw a man who was no longer in control, whose fate rested in the hands of monsters like George. She saw what all the years of corruption and vice had wrought, saw how it had hollowed him from the inside out.

‘You're afraid of George, aren't you?' Now it was her turn to goad him. ‘I used to think you weren't afraid of anything—not even the gallows. But now I see there's a lot that frightens you.'

‘There's a lot that should frighten you too,' he snapped, breathless, before draining his second mug as though his life depended upon it. As though the potent contents could cure whatever canker had taken hold in his lungs. ‘You'd just better hope that George sees fit to make you his wife, because otherwise I dare say he'll take whatever innocence you have left then drown you in the Eden river.'

The stark threat was like a punch in the gut. Unable to bear the sight or sound of her father any longer, Hope looked away, her eyes drifting towards the little window and her thoughts wandering across the rugged countryside to Hayton Hall. To afternoons drinking tea in the parlour, and to gentle promenades in the gardens. To conversations about Hume and Shakespeare. To passionate kisses in the library, in the parlour, in his bedchamber. To the feeling of being safe and cared for. To the happiest weeks of her life.

And, above all, to the man she loved and who, she felt certain, she would never see again.