She stepped into the carriage. The horses trotted sedately through the traffic under the firm control of Bill Dodds and it wasn’t long before they turned into Hyde Park. It was too early for the ton to be much in evidence. Some fresh air and a spot of exercise would do her good. Tired of the way everyone, from Sissy to Nidd, fussed because she was increasing, she longed for a rest from their anxious faces and solicitous words.
She tapped the overhead door with the handle of her parasol. It opened. ‘Pull over, Dodds. I’m going to walk.’
‘I don’ know, milady. Better if’n you stay with the carriage.’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake. Are you going to start now?’
He muttered an apology and stopped the carriage. He helped her down and stepped back quickly. There was something almost guilty about the way he refused to meet her gaze. She shook off her discomfort. The man was competent, that was all that mattered.
‘I will be back within a half-hour. Feel free to walk the horses if needed.’
She was aware of the gleaming dark eye that followed her as she strolled away. She should not have been so fierce. It was their respect for the Marquess making them all so attentive. Given the rumours about Garrick, she was grateful for that respect.
Her spleen relieved by a brisk walk, she sat down on a stone seat beside the lake and watched the ducks dabble. She would bring the baby here. Garrick would have approved.
What would he have thought, had he known she was with child? Would he have left for France? She couldn’t help a wry little smile, because she didn’t doubt it for a moment. But she did wish she’d found the courage to tell him her true feelings. If they’d had more time, they might have rediscovered the joy they’d shared so briefly. In time, perhaps she would have found in him the handsome Marquess with warm brown eyes and wicked smile with whom she had fallen in love.
She would never know.
The pain in her chest rose into her throat in a hot, hard lump. Damn. She blinked back the watery veil obliterating the view.
‘’Scuse me, miss.’ She gazed through the mist at the urchin standing in front of her. The boy seemed ill-at-ease and out of breath. ‘You the Marchingness of Bosworth?’
She frowned. ‘What of it, child?’
‘I got a ’portant message. But yer gotta promise not to tell.’ The ragamuffin shifted from foot to foot as if on the verge of flight.
Her heart picked up speed. She desperately tried to quell the rush of hope. It was foolish to hope. And yet she’d received no official confirmation of Garrick’s death and it was always there, catching her unawares, like a candle that refused to be snuffed. ‘I promise.’
‘’Ere.’ The boy flung a dirty scrap of paper at her and dashed away.
Eleanor uncrumpled the paper. A bold scrawl emblazoned the page.
Meet me tonight after Midnight at the corner of the Square.
B.
B. meaning Beauworth? It would be like Garrick to issue such a command. Who else could it be? Garrick was alive. Hands shaking, she stared at the note. She pressed it to her lips, inhaled the scent of ink. Her eyes burned and blurred. What? Crying? Now was not the time for tears. Think. He must be in danger if he couldn’t come openly to his house. So she would go to him.
She tucked the note into her reticule. Alive. She leapt to her feet, her heart so light it could have carried her away on a breeze.
What would she wear? What would she say? Would he ask her to go with him? She headed back for her carriage and home. Would he be happy about their child? No matter what his circumstances, she would go with him this time. Even if it meant flight to the ends of the earth, if he asked. She pushed a surge of fear aside. When she reached the carriage, Dodds had a strange look on his face. If she’d hadn’t known better, she might have thought it was utter relief.
The rest of the day passed far too slowly, the clock’s hands creeping minute by minute until she thought her head would burst. After dinner, she went upstairs to her chamber, and after sending her maid away, changed into a practical walking gown, dressing her hair in a simple knot. If they were going to be on the run, the less fuss the better. Since he’d not asked her to bring anything, she decided not to pack a valise in case there wasn’t room. On the other hand, he might be in need of money, so she stuffed her reticule with bills. What else? She paced in front of the hearth. A weapon?
She ran to the dressing room and opened her trunk to find the only thing she’d kept from her madcap youth in the bottom. Her sword.
She drew it part way from the scabbard. The blade caught the light of her candle with a wicked glint. As instructed by her father, she’d cleaned it and oiled it faithfully at regular intervals. Father had been right. You never knew when a sword might come in useful.
A woman with a sword wasn’t exactly a common sight. She rummaged through her clothes’ press and found a thick woollen cloak. She wrapped the sword and scabbard in the folds of the cloak and stood in front of her mirror. If she carried it like so, tucked under her arm parallel with her body beneath the cloak, it should pass unnoticed. After all, no one expected a woman to carry such a weapon.
Unable to think of anything else, she sat down to wait.
It was the most horrid hour she’d ever spent, but finally the clock on the mantel chimed twelve and she slipped downstairs and opened the front door, feeling a little bit like Cinderella. Garrick was waiting. She hugged the thought close.
What if he took her with him tonight? Sissy and William might never know what had become of her. It didn’t bear thinking about. She took a deep breath. Deal with one problem at a time. First she had to see Garrick. Find out what was happening. Her palms damp and her heart racing, she stepped out of the house and into the dark street.
Dark shadows loomed between the houses and beneath the trees in the middle of the square, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Her footsteps a light tap on the flagstones, the scent of coal fires in her nostrils, she stepped out briskly.
‘Who’s that?’ Garrick, lounging against the side of the house, prodded his companion.
‘I dunno. One the maids, I ’spose. The little saucy one, most likely. She slips out sometimes to visit her fella.’
‘She ought to be careful, walking the streets at this time of night.’ Garrick limped out on to the footpath, careful to avoid the light cast by the streetlamp. The maid paused at the curb, then crossed the street under a light. His breath hissed between his teeth. ‘What the devil? Fetch my horse. Now.’
He dashed to the other side of the street, maintaining his halting gait and staying close to the park’s iron railings where the shadows were deepest. He turned the corner of the square in time to see the woman step into a waiting hackney. The driver whipped up the horses as soon as the door closed.
Gut in a knot, he ran back. Abandoning stealth in favour of speed, he shouted orders as he ran for his horse. ‘You, follow me. You, take this message to the Captain. Damn the woman. And damn Le Clere.’
The faces of his men looked tense as they hurried to do his bidding.
When the horses drew up at an inn somewhere near Hampstead Heath, Eleanor thought, she opened the door and jumped down.
The driver clambered down and waved her towards the entrance of a small, mean-looking place with moss-covered thatch and grimy windows. ‘After you, my lady.’
The voice struck a chord of memory and she stared at his face. A face she only saw in her nightmares. ‘Matthews?’
‘I didn’t think you would recognise me, my lady, after all this time.’ He grinned.
A sick feeling churned in her stomach. Why would