Chapter 33

Thirty-Three

T he coaching inn was nothing more than Phil expected her father to use for her sister's comfort. Ivy covered walls hid most of the ancient building. Likely the linens hadn't been changed, and she would need to be on the lookout for mice. She could see no other alternative inn, so perhaps this was the best this particular hamlet had to offer.

Father led her through the side door and up a set of squeaky stairs to the bedrooms. At the third door, her father thrust a key into the lock and opened the door to a musty chamber, lit only by the moonlight from a single window.

"Alex?" Phil crossed to the bed expecting to see her sister. The bed was empty.

Behind her, the door closed and the key clicked in the lock.

Rushing across the room she tried to turn the handle. It wouldn't budge. "Father?"

She looked around the bed chamber. What was her father up to? A bag sat on a chair next to the wardrobe. It was not her sister's. She traced the initials carved in the handle. M.N. It was the same bag she'd seen Michael's valet use to smuggle Peggy to her. What was this bag doing here?

She inspected the bag closer. There was no mistaking it was the same luggage, though why Lord Endelton would leave town she couldn't fathom.

Phil closed her eyes and groaned. Father meant to force Michael into marrying her. What better way than to have them found together in a dingy room someplace between London and Gretna Green?

No, no, no. Michael was too good of a man. She had to get out of the room now.

Even if she was as proficient as George, a hairpin in the lock would risk Father hearing her attempted escape. The chamber was too small to have a concealed servant entrance.

Phil flew across the room to the window. The vines clinging to the building were old and thin. Hopefully, they were strong enough to support her escape. A drop to the ground would likely break a bone, and then she would be of no help to Alex wherever she was. Phil reached for the nearest vine and found it thicker than she'd first thought. A solid tug didn't budge the twisted stalk. She took one rueful look at her pale primrose dress before shimmying out the window. The cloth would be ruined by the time she reached the ground. The creak of the stairs beyond the door spurred her on. Being found in a man's room, even if it wasn't Michael's, was the worst of all her alternatives.

A moment later, she discovered her lot could be worse.

Spiders.

Dinner left a sour feeling in Michael's stomach. On the other side of the table, Richard negotiated with a roofer about checking for leaks at the cottage. Wishing for sleep, Michael returned to the inn alone. Using the side door, he mounted the stairs to his room. He slowed his step as two men stepped out of the room at the end of the passageway.

The lamplight reflected off the familiar man's balding head and illuminated Mr. Lightwood's contorted face. "There you are, you bounder. How dare you abscond with my daughter!"

"What do you mean, sir?"

"I heard her calling out from inside that room." Mr. Lightwood pointed to Michael's door.

He should have waited for Richard and returned together so at least Michael would have a witness.

"I demand you open this door this minute."

Michael drew the key from his pocket, hoping there would be some explanation if Philippa were there. Surely she would proclaim his innocence loudly enough to break through the din of the coaching inn's parlor and dining room.

Silence met him as he opened the door. The lumpy bed remained as it had been when he brought in his bag. Had the bag moved? He was sure it had been on the chair, not the floor. The chair had been moved next to the open window. In the dim moonlight, he could not be entirely sure he was alone. Mr. Lightwood elbowed his way past Michael and into the room. His companion held a lantern high, illuminating the small space. "Phil—" The words died on his lips. "She is here. I know it!"

Philippa's irate father crossed the room to the wardrobe and threw open the door.

Empty.

Michael forced himself not to smile as the men turned over the lumpy mattress revealing nothing but the sagging ropes of the bedframe and thick layers of undisturbed dust on the floor. If Philippa had been in the room, she managed an escape. Hopefully to safety.

Cheeks red with rage, Mr. Lightwood bellowed, "What have you done with my daughter?"

"Sir, I have not seen your daughter for two days. I must ask you to leave."

The innkeeper appeared in the doorway. "Problem, gentlemen?"

Mr. Lightwood pointed to Michael. "He has my daughter."

The innkeeper's brow creased. "Lord Endelton? Impossible. He arrived with the Duke. Come along and leave his lordship alone. Your daughter must be someplace else."

"But … but I know she was here." Mr. Lightwood looked around the room as the innkeeper and the other man ushered him out.

Michael waited until he heard the sound of feet descending on the stairs before rushing to the window.