Page 76 of A Kiss to Stop a Wedding
* * *
After a night spent tossing and turning, Matt left the King’s Head, eager to return to Bellemonte. The journey was slow and painful, his injured arm was practically useless and his weak leg suffered from hours in the saddle, but he made the journey in three days.
He had a brief meeting with his manager and then returned to his apartment at Bellemonte House, where he allowed his valet to fuss over him, putting a fresh bandage on his arm, helping him to change into clean clothes and finally serving him an elegant dinner.However, when he wanted to help his master to bed, Matt had other ideas. He sent his man off on an errand to the pleasure gardens.
It was not long before there was a quiet knock on the door and Jepps looked in.
‘You sent for me, Mr Talacre?’
‘Yes, come in, man.’ Jepps walked across the room with his irregular, halting gait. He glanced at Matt’s own leg, resting on a low stool, but said nothing. Matt went on. ‘No trouble getting here, I hope?’
‘No, sir, I arrived yesterday. Gave your letter to Mr Cripps, as you ordered, and he set me on. I’m using my mother’s name now, though. Miller.’
‘Yes, Cripps told me. He says from what he’s seen of you so far you are a good worker.’
The man brightened a little at that. ‘I does me best, sir. Trying to put the past behind me, now.’
‘Aye, well, before you do that completely, I’d like to know everything you can tell me about the Viscount. Not the recent history, but what you know of Captain Gask. His regiment, the names of the troopers who served under him, any dates, places they mentioned—I want a note of all of it.’
Jepps looked anxious. ‘That’d take me a while, sir. I’m awful slow at writing.’
‘No matter, I will do that for you. Bring that small table over here, if you will, and the campaign box. Iwill write everything down for you and you can sign it when you are finished. Will you do that?’
‘Aye, I will, sir. After what you’ve done for me, I’ll do that gladly!’
* * *
It was near midnight and the candles were guttering when Jepps had finally finished his tale. Matt thanked him and sent him away. He picked up the paper from the writing slope of his campaign box and waved it slowly, making sure the ink was dry before he folded it. He did some calculations and concluded there was not a moment to lose. He would spend the morning making his arrangements, but by tomorrow evening he must be on his way to Dallamire. He hoped Conham would be at home, because he needed help to carry out his plan.
He had told Flora he didn’t believe in miracles, but he did believe in chance and good fortune. It was possible that all was not yet lost.
* * *
Flora’s return to Birchwood House went unnoticed, except for the three loyal family retainers who had seen her off. Amos and John Coachman might guess she had been to the King’s Head, but they would say nothing, and Betty asked no questions. With the prospect of being dresser to a viscountess ahead of her, the maid preferred not to know too much about her mistress’s actions these past few weeks.
Life settled down into its usual uneventful pattern for Flora, very much as it had been before Matt Talacre had come into her world. But it was not quite the same: she was accompanied everywhere now by the large and taciturn footman sent over by Lord Whilton and she missed Matt so badly it was like a constant, physical ache.
There had been no word, but she heard no gossip about him either. There were rumours about Jepps, though. It was widely reported that he was Matt’s attacker and had run away to avoid arrest. Flora could only hope they were both now at Bellemonte, safe and well.
* * *
It took Matt two days to reach Dallamire and he limped into the house, his leg stiff from sitting hours in the post chaise and with his arm still supported in a sling.
‘What the devil!’ Conham took one look at him and hurried forward. ‘By heaven, man, what have you been doing to yourself? Let’s get you inside!’
Matt batted away the Earl’s attempts to help him. ‘I can walk well enough, thank you,’ he muttered as he accompanied his host into the house and through the marbled hall to the drawing room.
Lady Dallamire was waiting there and she gave a gasp of dismay at the sight of him.
‘Matt, you are as white as a sheet! Come and sit down—’
‘Oh, no, Rosina, not before you have greeted me properly!’ He put his good arm around her and pulled her close.
Laughing, she kissed his cheek, but then insisted on guiding him to a sofa.
‘You must sit, too,’ he said, pulling her down beside him. ‘It is only, what, four weeks since your lying in. By the bye, when will I meet my godson?’
‘You may see Little Matthew tomorrow. He is sleeping now and I will not have him disturbed.’
