Chapter Twenty-Seven

Jacob arrived at the Shrewsbury estate, which bordered Havercroft, just as the sun had fully risen above the horizon. The old house had blank, hollow windows and ivy crawling up the walls, and, hopefully, would contain some coffee inside.

"Why are we here?" Jacob asked, finally putting the pieces together. "I thought Annabelle was staying at Norfolk's estate?"

"So she was, but I thought it might be judicial to confront Henry in his own home. The houses are close enough that you will be able to go after Annabelle perfectly well from either."

Jacob pinched the bridge of his nose. "How will I know where to find her?"

Louisa tossed him a scornful glance. "Are you incapable of making enquiries? She is a high-born lady travelling alone, or at best with a servant. Surely she should be easy enough to find."

If she is still well.

The thought would not leave him be, filling him with restless energy as they entered the house. Henry was not yet there, having no doubt travelled to London to see Louisa, if Annabelle had told him she was staying there. Louisa had then left him a note to return here.

"Better we confront him here," she said comfortably, sitting herself down as though she had been here countless times before. "Then you may pursue Annabelle more easily."

"What about Henry?" Jacob paced rather than sit. "Will he not insist on accompanying me? Or going without me?"

"I shall keep him here."

Jacob ran a hand through his hair, which had seen so much of the same treatment no sign of his Brutus style remained. "You seem extremely confident of that point, Louisa."

"That is because I am."

"And there is no potential for doubt?"

"Not when he sees that you are in love with her," she said placidly, and at the sound of footsteps, she nodded, a hard glint in her eye. "He is here."

Henry stalked into the room, baulking at the sight of Jacob standing by the window. Jacob did not so much have time to adopt a fighting stance before Henry had him by the collar, his cravat crumpling irreparably under his fist.

"Where is she?" he spat.

Jacob quirked an eyebrow, his own anger burning in his gut. On the way, he had resolved to put their differences aside for Annabelle's sake, but this was the man who had chased her away.

If he wanted a fight, he was more than happy to oblige.

"I might ask you the same question," he said.

He didn't even see the blow coming. It cracked across his brow, hard enough that his head rocked back and he saw stars.

Good, it felt good to be fighting again.

"It's not enough for you, is it?" Henry demanded. "First you need to corrupt Louisa and now this. My sister."

Jacob tilted his head back up, curling his lips in a smile that felt more like bared teeth. "If you think Louisa needed any corrupting, you don't know her as well as I do."

The next blow caught him across the cheek, sending pain splintering back into his head, and he smiled, the pain a balm. "Excellent form," he said conversationally. His pulse pounded in his ears, all the frustration he'd tried in vain to tame with debauchery finally finding an outlet. "Go on. Show me what you think of me. Beat me to a bloody pulp in front of Louisa. That is what a future earl does, is it not? Comports himself with a lack of dignity?" He grinned, feeling blood on his teeth. "Or is that my job?"

"Really," Louisa drawled from where she was still sitting. "You should both be ashamed of yourselves."

Henry dropped Jacob and whirled, taking Louisa in for the first time. Jacob straightened, taking perverse enjoyment in what was about to happen.

"If you've finished brawling like schoolboys, perhaps you might sit down so we may discuss this like adults," she said, sparing Jacob a cutting glance that was enough to assure him of her irritation at his having used her to taunt Henry.

Well, it wasn't his fault that this staid, duty-obsessed man had loved rebellious Louisa, or that he had done his best to turn Annabelle against Jacob. Or that he had tried to force Annabelle into a marriage with another gentleman.

Suddenly, he wished he had punched Henry in return.

"Louisa," Henry said blankly. "Why are you here?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Sit down. And I hope you have an excellent explanation for trying to force Annabelle into marriage."

Henry stiffened. "I hardly see why that's any of your business."

"I rather think the fact she wrote to me in order to ask me to cover for her makes it somewhat my business," Louisa said icily. "And you did not answer my question."

Henry scowled, but finally sat. "I was trying to protect her. The world is not kind to an unmarried lady and she would be happy with Mr Comerford if she gave him the chance. I made it plain I would not force her into matrimony."

Mr Comerford? Jacob swallowed the absurd burn of jealousy and flexed his fingers.

"And did you ever ask her what she wanted?" Louisa asked, and before Henry could speak, she answered for him. "Of course not. If you had, we would not have been in this mess."

Henry scowled, sitting a little too upright, his fists clenched. "I was doing what I thought best for my family and for her own happiness."

"Then you should have been promoting the one marriage that would have made her happy."

Henry looked faintly nauseated at the thought. "Barrington?"

"Who else has she been engaged to for all this time?" Louisa threw her hands into the air. "I'm dealing with a pair of idiots."

"That's all very well," Jacob said, "but you can berate us another time. I need to go after her."

Henry looked at him now, the anger drained from his face. The silence was uncomfortable, filled with a thousand things Jacob could say and none he wanted to give voice to.

"Good God," Henry said after a long pause, his voice faint as he looked at Jacob. "Are you in love with her?"

"Of course he is," Louisa said impatiently. "And she's in love with him, only he's too much of a damned idiot to ask her to marry him even though it's the only thing that would make him happy, and from what I can tell, it's the only thing that would make Annabelle happy, too."

Henry looked between them with an expression of vague horror. Jacob glowered at them both. "Do something useful and tell me whether she took a maid. And I will need a horse."

Louisa's glare could have set fire to the upholstery. Henry looked as though he wanted to argue, but eventually said, "She did not take her maid. I only waited to ascertain the barest of essentials before setting off, but it seems she rode a horse into the village. We found it at the local inn."

The foolish, foolish girl. Jacob nodded curtly. "I will find her."

"I will come—"

"No," Louisa said sharply. "You will remain here. The last I heard, the Dowager Duchess of Norfolk is preparing to leave London, and you may be sure she will visit the Duke at Havercroft. She cannot know that Annabelle has fled. Spread the story that she has taken ill and is recuperating here." Louisa raised her eyebrows. "You see how your presence is required. Jacob will find her."

"But the impropriety," Henry protested.

"I can be discreet," Jacob said. "And I will ask her to marry me."

"An enlightened conclusion," Louisa said, her tone biting. "Did you come up with it all by yourself?"

"I might be a damned idiot, but you're a damned harpy, Louisa. I pity the man who loves you." He strode to the door and turned back to face them. "And Beaumont—you have probably guessed this by now, but Louisa and I aren't lovers. Not even close. God help me if we were."

With that, he left the room.

Curled up before the fire in a small inn parlour, Annabelle read and reread her application letter. She had little experience with these things, but Mrs Hampshire sounded nice, if a little busy, and she wished to give her daughters a lady's education. That was one thing Annabelle was certain she could provide.

She had to find a position soon. Although she had a fair amount of pin money left, she could not remain here indefinitely, and she had no intention of returning to Havercroft only for Henry to drag her away again. And if the thought of entering a strange household as a governess made her stomach twist uncomfortably, that was just something she would have to get used to. A governess would not be expected to attend parties and make polite conversation with people she didn't know. A governess would have a job to do, and no one would bother her so long as she did as she was asked.

Annabelle could do that.

A shudder ran through her and she pushed away her doubt. Leaving had been easier than she'd anticipated. After Henry had ordered her to return to London with him, she had left the house early the next morning. But instead of catching the stagecoach south, she had gone north towards York. She had been in this small inn for several days now; there was no chance that no one had discovered her missing, but hopefully Lady Bolton would be covering for her. At least until she reached her new employer and could send them all a letter explaining what she had done.

Five days away from home and she felt as though her future was finally unfolding. Not the future she had hoped for, admittedly, but better than marriage to a man she could not love.

She put her letter aside and picked up the book of sonnets. Really, she should have known better than to bring it, but when she had gone to leave it behind, her heart had given another pang, and she had been unable to let it sit there.

This book had been loved once. And she would love it now.

She had just begun rereading her favourites when the sound of a disruption reached her. The inn was a large, bustling one, and she was accustomed to the sound of coming and going after two nights in this place, but this was different. A scurrying subservience that made her skin prickle with anticipation. Closing her book, she rose and moved to the door, pressing her ear against it.

"A private parlour," a familiar, drawling voice said. "And a meal, if you would."

She shrank back from the door, eyes wide, her hands shaking.

Jacob.

It didn't seem possible for him to be here. Here. In a small coach house in the middle of nowhere. How could he have known that she was here?

He should not have even known she had left home.

She pressed her ear to the door again. "Are you quite well, sir?" she heard the innkeeper ask solicitously.

"Got the devil of a headache."

Yes, that was Jacob all right. Terser than she remembered him, with less of that lazy drawl. Here, it seemed as though it was on a tight leash.

She kept listening, but what remained of their exchange was lost to the general sound of the inn, and eventually she gave up, pacing the small room. Had he come for her? The thought took root, growing in her until it was inescapable, large and flowering and unbearably sweet.

Before she could think better of it, she strode to the door and wrenched it open. And there he was, casting the innkeeper into obscurity by his height and his devastating handsomeness. His hair was a trifle too long, falling into his face, and his expression was a little rumpled, like a piece of cloth fisted in one's hand until the creases became part of the fabric itself.

He looked up at the sound of her quiet gasp, and his expression turned razor-sharp. "Well met, little bird," he said in a voice of anger and want like curling smoke. "May I come in?"