Page 34 of Choosing Her Earl at Last
Michael reached out and took her elbow in an effort to support her weight should she faint. “Emmeline?” his heart held genuine concern as he broke with social protocol, using her given name in mixed company.
Emmeline opened her eyes, more tears slipping from her lashes to spill down her cheeks. “I should have been there. I should have paid more attention to her sudden interest in the plight of the working men and women of London. I had noticed a turn in her letters to me, but I dismissed it. If I had read the true meaning behind her words, perhaps she would be with us now.”
“You cannot blame yourself,” Michael murmured, moving closer to her. In that moment, he wanted more than anything in the world to draw her into his arms, but he stopped just shy of doing so.
“I blame myself for not seeing the signs that something was wrong sooner,” the coachman admitted, wringing his hat in his hands with such anxiety that Michael did not believe that it could be salvaged for use again.
“I had heard rumors that Martha was associating with a disreputable businessman, but I did not believe it. I should have known that something was wrong when she started behaving strangely.” He shook his head forlornly. “I should have done something.”
“Why?” Colin demanded to know. “What responsibility do you have for either woman?”
The man turned his eyes to Colins, pain and sorrow etched into his features. “I love Martha.”
Michael and Colin exchanged a look. As men who knew what it was to love a woman and have her disappear, they could not help but feel sympathy for the man. “What is your name, coachman?” Michael asked more gently.
“Timothy Duncan, my lord.” He pulled a forelock of brown hair on his forehead in respect, his honest brown eyes imploring them to help him find the woman that he loved.
Michael studied the man’s stocky build and muscular work-worn hands. “We may have need of you in the coming days. Are you willing to fight if it comes to that to save your Martha and Miss Rebecca?”
“I am.” The man nodded in confirmation.
“Good. We may send word for you in the future,” Michael informed him.
“If you call, I will come,” the man promised. “Upon that, you have my word.”
In an uncharacteristic gesture for a man of his station, Michael reached out his hand to shake the coachman’s. “If you hear of anything new that might be of help in finding Martha and Miss Rebecca, send word to the townhouse of the Earl of Ravenshollow. Do you know where that is?”
The coachman nodded. “I do, and I will.”
“Good man,” Michael said, releasing his grip.
Just as they were all about to part ways, a rustling of leaves behind them alerted them to another’s presence. “Who is there?” Michael demanded to know, readying himself to defend Emmeline and Louisa. To his surprise, Theodocia Frampton stepped out of the shadows, her eyes pinning her eldest daughter to the ground upon which they stood.
“You risk much, Daughter, meeting in a dark garden with men who are not your husband,” Theodocia warned in disapproval. Her eyes took in the group with a mix of disdain and imbittered stoicism.
“Whatever you are planning, you clearly do not wish others to know about it, or you would not be meeting in secret. I will not ask you of your intentions, but I will simply warn you that you are not as hidden as you think. There are others in this garden who can see you.”
She gestured toward the dim light of the veranda and a group of men that had gathered there to smoke and argue politics. “You may not care anything for your own reputations, but you should think carefully before you cause any further damage to Rebecca’s.”
“We are only trying to help her,” Emmeline explained, her posture stiff, her face nearly devoid of emotion as it always was when communicating with her mother.
Michael recognized the absence of expression all too well. As children, Emmeline had always been closer with her father than her mother. She had never felt as if she could be her true self around Theodocia and had acted accordingly.
Michael had always resented Theodocia for it. Now all that he could think about while watching both women exchange words was the cold-hearted way in which they had broken his.
“You should leave the investigating to the magistrate and his Runners. It is not appropriate for a lady of your station to berunning about London making inquiries. Leave that to the men,” Theodocia advised stiffly.
“The Runners are not making any progress,” Emmeline argued. “Rebecca needs our help.”
“I do not wish to lose both of my daughters to criminals,” Theodosia bit out, showing more emotion than was usual for her usually stolid countenance. “Or to sullied reputations,” she bit out in an attempt to hide her true feelings.
Michael’s bitterness toward the older woman receded somewhat at the reminder that she had indeed lost a daughter.
“I will make inquiries upon the morrow to see if any progress has been made in the case. I will share with them what we have learned this evening. If no further progress is made, I intend to continue my own investigation. If it would bring you peace of mind, I can have a word with my father’s friend, who is a magistrate, about the matter. It would not harm anything to have more than one magistrate leading an investigation.”
Theodosia gave him an awkward nod, not meeting his eyes. “Thank you,” she murmured.
If Michael did not know better, he would have thought that she felt guilt over what she had done all of those years ago, taking Emmeline from him and giving her to another man. Having hadher say, Theodosia turned on her heel and glided back through the garden to rejoin the ball.
