Page 75 of A Widow for the Earl
“There were a few prints nearby, but they ended again,” he went on. “It just so happened that I took that moment to look up… and I saw a manor in the distance. Merricold Manor. I rode there at once, but no one had seen Frederick. So, I asked to speak to Frederick’s brother, the Marquess, only to be informed that he is terribly unwell. Physicians do not know what is wrong with him.”
Vincent took the handkerchief out of Anthony’s hand, holding it to his nose as if it might still carry the scent of the woman he loved. “I do not understand, Anthony. What are you saying?”
“I am saying that it sounds rather suspicious,” Anthony replied in earnest. “And though I was practically thrown out, I amcertainthat Frederick is on that estate somewhere. Duncan and Cyrus have already gone on ahead. My horse cannot ride again tonight, or I would have gone myself.”
Vincent patted the neck of his own horse, as the dwindling flame of hope began to burn brighter in his chest. He, too, could not ride his horse again tonight, but that would not stop him.
He got down from the saddle. “Wake the inn,” he instructed. “Tell them that I am borrowing a horse, and will pay a high price to the owner. And, Anthony, stay here to inform anyone else who comes back to the meeting point.”
“I will, Lord Grayling,” Anthony replied, as he darted back inside.
His shouts were loud enough to raise the dead, as Vincent led his horse into the stable courtyard and passed the reins to a sleepy-eyed stable boy. A boy so dazed that he did not bother to protest when Vincent opened up the nearest stall, threw a bridle on the bright-eyed stallion, and took off toward Merricold Manor. His thighs would burn without a saddle, but that was a small price to pay for Beatrice’s safe return.
It was already morning by the time Vincent arrived at the gates of Merricold Manor, where he found Duncan and Cyrus grazing their horses beside a towering oak tree.
They turned in surprise as Vincent brought his horse to a halt and jumped down, brimming with a strength that sprang from a place of fear, overwhelming any fatigue he might have felt. There was no time to be weary when Beatrice’s life might be at stake.
“Any news?” Vincent asked, approaching the two men.
Cyrus gestured toward the grand manor. “We have been barred from entering. Apparently, our interruptions have caused too much distress to the Marquess, who is very unwell.”
“But we are waiting for one of the footmen—an agreeable chap—to bring us a map of the estate,” Duncan added. “He sympathized with our cause. Indeed, I get the impression that he does not favor Frederick much at all.”
Vincent shook his head. “There is no time for that. Think. Think of what every estate has.” He paused. “Have either of you been here before? Do you remember anything about it?”
“I attended a few dinner parties,” Duncan replied. “But I did not see anything beyond the main house. The gardens, possibly, but I cannot think of anything remark?—”
Just then, a horse plodded slowly through the gates, wielding a priest in full-garb upon its back. The man smiled amiably, tipping his hat to the three gentlemen in a polite greeting.
“Are you here for the wedding?” he asked, slowing his mount.
Vincent’s stomach plummeted. Beside him, Cyrus and Duncan’s eyes widened as understanding dawned.
“I did not think there would be too many guests, considering the circumstances,” the priest said, oblivious. “So, I am pleased there will be at least a few in the congregation. There is nothing worse than an empty chapel at a wedding.”
Vincent cleared his throat. “We will ride with you.”
“The more, the merrier!” the priest encouraged, waiting as the three men climbed up onto their horses.
He means to marry her. He stole her to have her for himself. And I was not there to prevent it…But Vincent was here now,and no matter how Frederick thought the morning was going to end, he was about to be sorely disappointed.
Trying to remain calm so as not to alarm the priest, Vincent made idle conversation with the cheerful man as the quartet rode together along the winding avenues of the Merricold Estate.
The path the priest took led them away from the winking windows of the manor proper, cutting through lush woods and extensive parkland, over a bridge that arced across a babbling stream, and around the wooden structure of a hunting lodge, until they reached a low hill. Perched atop it, gray slate gleaming in the morning light, was a chapel.
“Have you married many people here?” Vincent asked tightly.
The priest tilted his head from side to side. “Not so many marriages, but I do a private service for the family every Thursday evening. Have done for years. Such a lovely estate.”
“Do you know much about the bride?” Duncan chimed in, his gaze fixed on the chapel.
The priest chuckled. “I believeeveryonehas heard about Miss Johnson. I could not believe it when Lord Frederick asked me to conduct the ceremony, but nor could I refuse. Let us hope that he is more fortunate than Miss Johnson’s other husbands, shall we?”
Oh no, Father, he is about to meet a far worse fate.Vincent kept his thoughts to himself as they made the final stretch up to the chapel gates.
“Father, would you stay out here for a moment?” Vincent asked in a cold tone, as he slid down from the saddle. “We are old friends of dear Freddie. We should like to give him a few encouraging words before the ceremony.”
Duncan laughed tightly, joining in with the charade. “Or talk him out of it!”
