Page 39 of The Duke's Tempting Widow
Had she not been the one out with the constable all day? She had been the one interviewing every lead and out there on the road searching for clues even when she had no idea what she was looking for. She knew that she could not sit idly by.
Father would not address her directly, would not even so much as look at her nor Kitty.
He likely had plenty to say on the fact that the pair of them had arrived frantically in the middle of the night with a man whom he had not personally vetted and approved.
“You should have written to me the moment that this unsavory character came into your life, Lydia. You should have known that you are not at all equipped to handle such a thing on your own. You ought to have gotten myself or Lord Baxter here involved from the beginning,” her father started.
Lydia knew that this would only result in a larger lecture. Her whole life had been comprised of lectures like this at the expense of her sanity and her dignity. It mattered not what she did or how she lived her life, it would always displease him in some fashion or another. No woman could ever be good enough for him. It was his life’s greatest lament that he was cursed with daughters instead of sons.
William leaned over and whispered something to Kitty, which also seemed to displease father. He cleared his throatloudly, as if commanding them to separate to a respectable distance from one another.
Before father had a chance to comment on it, however, William took back control of the conversation once more. “I believe that Cassian would try to take His Grace somewhere that is private. He would not wish to be interrupted in whatever it is that his plans are. Do you know of a place that would fit those needs?”
It had been hours yet and she still felt as if she were the only one who was beside herself with worry. She could not sit still. A cold sweat of dread seemed to be constantly trickling down her spine. Every moment that passed was a moment that Weston was likely dead. London had never felt quite so vast as it did now that she was attempting to locate a needle in a haystack.
Lydia was never able to summon the sort of patience that Lord Baxter was showing her father. Perhaps that was why they butted heads so very often. Never mind that she had done everything that he had ever asked of her. The lingering resentment was there. She wished to find Weston, and quickly. Her father could lecture them all afterward if he was so moved to.
“Somewhere perhaps with little to no staff?” William continued, hoping to refocus the conversation to the task at hand.
Lydia’s father lingered his gaze upon her for a long moment, and she said nothing. Fighting with him would only ensure that she did not get his assistance, and they needed it.
“This Cassian fellow is a cousin of your late husband’s, as well as the duke’s, is he not?” her father asked.
Lydia nodded. “Yes, sir.”
His eye twitched. “Does he have a hunting lodge that would not need to be maintained? Perhaps another property or apartment here in the city? Not that the pair of you ever deign to come and visit me. Not even my unwed youngest daughter can be bothered to spend time with her father.”
She chose not to focus on those comments. She could not afford to rise to the bait that he was thrusting in her direction.
Kitty placed a hand on her thigh, tapping softly. “The earl did not care much for hunting, is that right, sister?”
Lydia nodded again. “No, he did not—but he did have a small home here in London. I cannot recall the last time that either of us had reason to visit. It was far too small for his liking, and we simply never got around to furnishing it properly for residence.”
As soon as she had finished speaking about the home, the dots connected.
“Oh,oh!”Lydia pushed away from the table. “Naturally, the duke would have inherited that as well… the deeds and keys, all of it. If Cassian somehow saw the papers… there is a very good chance that he could be there!”
“I would presume, given all of his fuss, that he has more than just glimpsed the papers detailing the duke’s inheritance.” William added, his anger seeping into his tone. “Quickly, let us go and retrieve our dear duke.”
Lydia nodded, gathering her skirts in her hands and shaking off any lingering tiredness that was plaguing her. There would be time to rest later. She did not care how much her legs ached or how heavy her eyes became, she was bound and determined to follow this lead. Weston’s very life could be depending on them finding him in time!
“The carriage is still out front.” Lydia exclaimed, leading the group of them out the front door. “Kitty, take father and go to the Bow Street Runners, tell them where we are going. I have a sinking feeling that we will need their assistance! Hurry!”
Kitty opened her mouth to protest, no likely unhappy to be left behind in the first place, but there was no stopping Lydia. Even William had to run to catch her carriage before it sped off.
She could think of nothing and nobody but Weston, and hope that he was all right.
Chapter 25
Everything hurt.
Weston woke slowly, the throbbing ache in his skull making it very difficult to take inventory of the rest of his faculties. His shoulder joints ached, and he could tell that his hands were tied behind his back. The room he found himself in had little to no lighting and smelled strongly of dust and musk. Weston’s ears strained in the darkness, listening for anything that might give him a clue as to where he was or how he got there.
What was the last thing that he could remember? He was setting off in the carriage, and the footman had cried out about an obstacle on the road. The boy had tried to slow the horses, but the carriage had too much momentum and turned straight on its side. He could remember being thrown sideways in the carriage and then… nothing.
He must have hit his head. There was even the chance that he might have thought that he was brought somewhere by a good Samaritan except for the fact that his hands were bound behind him. Whomever had found him did not have his best interests at heart.
The drapes in the room were drawn, and he could not tell the hour. Not knowing how much time had passed was a horribly disorienting feeling. Groaning softly, he attempted to move from where he was on the floor, pain radiating from his right leg up through his hip in the process. Weston grimaced, swallowing down the pain in favor of finding out where he was.
