Page 45 of The Time for Love
“Yes, miss. I was the one closest to the main office door. The man was wearing a hacking jacket of good quality and cut, over tan twill breeches and top boots that were likely from Courtauld’s in Bow Street. He had brown hair, a trifle long at the collar and slightly wavy. He was clean-shaven and of medium build.”
Sophy’s heart sank even further. She met Martin’s eyes and simply said, “Charlie.”
Martin’s expression was a mixture of intentness and concern. “Edward’s brother? Your cousin?”
When she nodded, Oliver asked, “Are you sure?”
Lips tightening, she nodded decisively. “That’s him. I know he had a key to the works—my father gave him one long ago, when trying to get Charlie and Edward interested in working in the business.” Suspicions, speculation, and a host of questions filled her mind. She shoved them aside, forced herself to draw a tight breath, and said, “And I know where he’s going.”
“Where?” Martin asked.
She met his gaze. “He’s taken the road to Mistymoor Manor. My country home, out by Stacey Bank. Charlie has always treated it as his bolt-hole whenever he needed to escape his father, Edward, or town in general.”
Martin nodded and turned to Roland.
With thoughts and conjecture winging through her head, Sophy stood silently beside Martin while he gave orders for Roland to fetch his curricle. That snapped her to attention. “I’m coming, too.”
Martin met her eyes, opened his mouth, then shut it.
She nodded curtly. “He’s my cousin, it’s my steelworks, and it’s my house.”
Martin studied her for a moment, then glanced at Oliver. “You’ll come as well?”
“I wasn’t planning otherwise.”
She realized that Martin was ensuring the proprieties were met; even now, he’d thought of that… She grimaced. “I’ll need to send a message to Aunt Julia and Grandmama.”
They decided on the wording, enough to inform the two older ladies what was afoot and reassure them without revealing their ultimate destination—because they knew that, if she could, Lady Bracknell would follow. Provided with pen, ink, and paper by the senior footman, Sophy quickly wrote the note. By the time she finished, Martin’s man had returned with his curricle and pair.
Sophy thrust the folded note into the senior footman’s hand with instructions to see it delivered to her ladyship as soon as they were away, then accepted her evening cloak that Martin held for her, drew it around her, and when he grasped her hand, hurried beside him down the steps and into the street.
The curricle was a work of art, and the padded leather seats were wonderfully comfortable. As for the horses, they were unquestionably superb; in the light of the streetlamps, Sophy could see their glossy hides gleaming over sleek muscle.
After handing her up, Martin took the reins and climbed onto the seat beside her.
Oliver buttoned his overcoat and swung onto the box seat.
Roland came hurrying from the rear of the carriage. He flicked out a luxurious carriage blanket and expertly draped it over Sophy’s lap. “There!” He smiled at her and stepped back.
Despite everything, she smiled back. “Thank you.”
She clutched the blanket as Martin flicked the reins. The horses surged, and they rattled off, heading for Mistymoor Manor.
CHAPTER8
Clouds had swept in over the moors. It was after midnight and cold and dark when Martin tooled his horses carefully along the graveled drive that led to Mistymoor Manor.
They crested a low rise, and the manor house came into view. Surrounded by clipped lawns, initially, the old house loomed like a crouching beast wreathed in shadows and mist, then the clouds drifted, and the moon sailed free and lit the scene in silvery light, revealing a two-story house built of local stone with dormers set into the attics here and there, a substantial yet comfortable and welcoming home.
Diamond-paned windows glinted in the moonlight, and flickering golden light gleamed through the gap between the curtains in a ground-floor room at the far left of the house.
Sophy nodded at the sight. “He’s here. He’s in the library. There wouldn’t be a light in there if he wasn’t.”
They already knew that Charlie Carmichael—assuming the man who’d tried to gain access to the main office at the steelworks was, indeed, he—had ridden directly to the manor. Martin’s men, as well as those Figgs had hired, had been stationed along the road from Sheffield to direct Martin, Sophy, and Oliver onward. Roland had ridden behind on a jobbing nag and, at Martin’s direction, had paid off the hired men along the way.
The fewer locals who learned that the man they were following was Sophy’s cousin, the better.
Martin slowed his horses even more and glanced at the chimneys punctuating the manor’s roofline. The one on the far left was smoking. “They’ve lit the fire in there.”
