Page 56 of The Damsel
The driver’s eyes darted and he seemed to think over his words before speaking. “M’lady left this mornin’, right after returnin’ from
Briarwell. She seemed in a hurry, didn’t even want me to drive her.”
Robert frowned. “She rode to London alone on horseback?”
The driver nodded, his breath leaving him in a heavy sigh. “I thought to go after her, but she … bloody hell, what could she be thinkin’?”
The frazzled thread of his patience snapped as his worry increased to panic. He took the driver by his lapels and drew him closer, nostrils flaring as he fought to get a handle on his emotions and failed. Despite not knowing exactly what was going on, he had a feeling Cassandra was in some sort of danger and this driver knew something about it.
“You need to tell me where she’s gone and what she is up to,” he demanded. “If she’s in trouble, I need to go after her.”
The man shrugged out of his hold, chin jutting out in a defiant manner. “It’s not for me to say. M’lady has sworn me to secrecy.”
“Goddamn it, your lady needs your help!” he railed, hands clenching into fists. “At least give me something. You must know where she’ll go once she’s in London. I cannot stand back and allow some ill fate to befall her.”
Crossing his arms over his chest, the driver inspected Robert with a critical eye. He seemed to try to determine whether Robert’s concern was sincere, and what good might come of revealing Cassandra’s secrets.
He softened a bit, shoulders sagging as he recognized the loyalty of this man toward his lady.
“I care for her … deeply. I just want to help. Please, if you know anything …”
“The name’s Randall,” the driver offered, his tone gruff. “And as I said, it’s not my place to tell m’lady’s secrets. But … well, if Lady Downin’ has died, then it stands to reason Sir Downin’ is the one what did her in.”
Robert reeled as the weight of the other man’s words slammed into him with all the force of a blunt instrument. “How could you possibly know that?”
Randall scowled. “The sod was beatin’ her, and Lady Cassandra knew it. There’s bad blood between her and Sir Downin’, and if his she suspects he killed his wife …”
The panic thrumming through him swelled until Robert feared he would choke on it. His heart was clutched in a vise, his hands shaking as the implications of what the servant was saying became clear.
What do you love … what will you fight for?
Justice.
She’d all but told him what she would do, and he had missed it, too caught up in the turmoil of watching her slip through his fingers.
“Do you think she would confront him over it?”
Randall scoffed and gave him a pointed look. “If you care for her as you say, then you already know the answer to that, don’t you?”
He did. Deep down he knew without a shadow of a doubt that Cassandra meant to act on her suspicions. Sir Downing’s account of his wife’s fall down the stairs would be believed, and no one would think to probe any deeper. If Cassandra thought there was a chance the man would get away with what he’d done the same way Bertram had gotten away with his crimes for years, she would not be able to stand back and allow it.
“Where would she go once she reaches London?” he pressed. “Can you tell me that much?”
Randall sagged, a defeated expression overcoming his face. “Penrose House would be the last place she’d go at a time like this. You might try the home of the Widow Dane. There’s also a place she takes rooms in from time to time … The Pulteney Hotel, 105 Picadilly.” “I know of it,” he said before turning to stride away.
“Are you goin’ after her?” Randall called out after him.
“Yes,” he replied without a glance back.
Yes, he was going after her. How could he not? Cassandra might insist she was not some damsel in need of saving, but her reckless behavior proved otherwise. She might not want him right now, but she damn sure needed him. If he stood back and allowed her to go through with her plan to confront Downing, there was no telling what might come of it. If the man was not above abusing or killing his own wife, Robert did not want to think about what he might do to Cassandra.
THREE DAYS LATER,Robert stood on the threshold of Penrose House, his first stop after arriving in London. He had not even bothered seeking out his own lodgings before beginning his search for Cassandra. Time was running short, and she had been here at least a day or two longer than him—meaning she could be anywhere. The time had come for swift action, and he was done allowing doubts and fears to hold him back.
He would drag her back to Suffolk kicking and screaming if he had to; but he would not leave London without her.
Upon answering the door, the butler accepted his card and led him into a drawing room where two women sat awaiting morning callers. Fashionably dressed and groomed to perfection, the dowager duchess and her youngest daughter were as lovely as he remembered. Only, the malice and scorn he found simmering in the depths of Lady Lane’s eyes proved off-putting, turning her beauty in something glacial and hard. Anger overwhelmed him at the sight of this woman, who had stood back and allowed thetonto make an outcast of her own daughter. The woman who had accepted Lord Fairchild’s money in place of the justice Cassandra had deserved.
The dowager gave her daughter a little nudge as he came into the room, and the chit sat up straight, a soft smile gracing her face as she looked Robert over from head to toe. Her gaze irritated her, striking him as vapid and shallow. He’d never been introduced to the youngest Lane girl, but it became clear to him then that the machinations of a matchmaking mama had just come into play. As if he would have any interest in a debutante who was little more than a child.
