Page 18 of Snowed-in with Scandal
A cold silence fell over the group. Even Nicholas looked shaken by the implications.
“Rope and binding cloth,” Fanny whispered. “And some sort of drug, by the sound of it.”
“Well, well,” the Colonel murmured grimly. “Seems our Lady Quamby’s instincts were rather more accurate than we gave her credit for.”
Antoinette turned to Nicholas with an expression of vindicated triumph mixed with genuine concern. “Now do youbelieve me? That monster has taken our poor Lady Lushington, and God only knows what he intends to do with her!”
Nicholas clenched his fists, all his stubborn resistance clearly crumbling in the face of this evidence. “How long ago did they pass through?” he asked the innkeeper.
“This were some hours ago, sir. They were in a powerful hurry.”
“Then we have no time to lose,” Nicholas said, turning quickly. “Are the fresh horses ready? We ride for Lushington Hall immediately.”
Antoinette gripped Nicholas’s arm. “I am so glad my instincts proved correct and that you now believe me. Regardless of however poorly you believe you have been treated by Lady Lushington, she does not deserve whatever that villain has obviously planned for her.”
Nicholas nodded curtly. “She does not,” he agreed. “And I’ll be damned if I’ll let any blackguard harm her while I have breath in my body.”
CHAPTER 13
“Water, miss?”
Arabella woke to the concerned question voiced by the young maid, Dorcas. The girl stood near the door, biting her lip as she stepped forward bearing a pitcher.
“What…what happened?” Arabella asked the question before the answer swirled about her brain in a myriad of fragmented clues as to why she was lying in one of the guest chambers, the sun low in the sky.
What had happened to the day? It had been morning when Algernon and she had been taking tea.
Tea?
She gasped and put her hand to her mouth, the bitter taste suddenly flooding her olfactory senses.
As if understanding her cognition of the situation, Dorcas smiled sympathetically.
“You’ve slept most of the day, miss, and I’m sure you must be thirsty. Here, take this?—“
She must have seen Arabella’s suspicion, for immediately she said, “Ain’t nothin’ in it, m’lady. ’Tis only water. Trust me.”
Well, Arabella did. If there was only Algernon and Dorcas—with presumably a cook and bootboy to keep them fed and the fires stoked if Dorcas could spend time tending to the mistress?—
She caught herself up short.
Yes, Arabella might not be mistress of Lushington Manor, which Algernon, as the closest male relative, had inherited. But she had inherited a third of the income from her husband’s real estate.
Granted, she had not taken a particular interest in that aspect as those funds had simply been deposited in an account to which she had access, and which she used as needed.
With her jointure, she had more than sufficient to live on.
Control of her destiny? That was a different matter.
“Dorcas,” she said carefully, accepting the water and drinking deeply to clear the lingering bitterness from her mouth. “Where is the master now?”
“In the study, miss. He’s been there most of the day, going through papers and such. Said he wasn’t to be disturbed unless...” She hesitated, wringing her hands.
“Unless what?”
“Unless you woke up, miss. He said to tell him the moment you stirred.”
A chill ran down Arabella’s spine. “I see. And has he given you any other instructions regarding me?”
